


it’s nice to have a friend

by angejolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Minor Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 137,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/pseuds/angejolras
Summary: She looks him up and down, deciding that she likes his curly blond hair and his bright blue eyes and the little dimple in his chin, even though his head looks too big for his body. And then she asks, “Do you wanna be my best friend?”He lights up, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes!”She beams and holds out her hand. “Okay, now we’re best friends.”He shakes her hand and it seals the deal.(Or in other words, they meet in kindergarten and instantly become best friends. The rest is history.)
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 160
Kudos: 70





	1. a juice box

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i must admit that this is all i have been working on for the past, what, five months now?? i originally just intended for this to be a more polished rewrite of ["my youth is yours"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067052) (this time with an nyc setting because of course), but then things got a little (a lot) out of control and now i have something novel-length on my hands. honestly, at this point, the only thing about this fic that bears resemblance to the original is the overall concept.
> 
> as of right now (10/04/2020), i have about 2/3 of the story completed (bit of a guesstimate there), but updates might be irregular. chapter length will greatly fluctuate in later chapters. also, the characters listed in the tags are not necessarily listed in order of appearance (and the rest of the boys, cosette, and musichetta fall under "les amis").
> 
> nevertheless, i hope y'all enjoy!! i'm having a lot of fun writing this haha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first day of kindergarten and he makes a new friend.

* * *

They bond over apple juice.

It’s the first day of kindergarten, a sunny September day, and Gabriel Enjolras sits alone at snacktime, minding his own business and nibbling at the chocolate chip cookies his dad baked for him over the weekend. He likes kindergarten so far—the teacher, Miss Fantine, is nice, and she has long blonde hair and big blue eyes and she shares her Goldfish crackers with the students at snacktime. He hasn’t made any friends yet, but that’s okay, because it’s only the first day.

He looks around the classroom, watching the kids who have already made friends, before he sees a brown-eyed girl with dark, wavy brown hair and olive skin sitting alone in a corner, eating nothing but the Goldfish crackers Miss Fantine has given to her. He frowns, wondering why she doesn’t have a snack of her own. Maybe her parents forgot to pack her a snack.

He looks at the girl, a little sorry for her. She must be feeling so sad right now. He knows he would be if _his_ parents forgot to pack him a snack.

He watches as she finishes her Goldfish crackers and then gets up to say thank you for the snack to Miss Fantine before she goes back and sits in her little corner, alone, playing with a little toy truck all by herself. He looks at the contents of his lunchbox, half of it untouched. And he gets an idea.

He stands up and walks over to her, tapping her on the shoulder when he reaches her, and she looks up, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

He points back at the table where he’s been sitting. “Do you want to sit with me?”

She thinks about it for a while, turning the little toy truck over in her hands, absent-minded. After a few moments, she stands up and says, “Okay.”

So they go back and sit down together, the girl eyeing the contents of his lunchbox rather longingly. He takes out his apple juice, holding it out to her. “Do you want my juice box?”

She brightens a little. “Can I?”

“Yeah! Take it.”

She hesitates for a bit before she does, shyly taking the juice box from him and poking the straw in before she drinks a little bit of it. She holds it out to him, offering him a sip. He takes one.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a little bolder now.

“Gabe. Gabriel Enjolras,” he tells her, careful in his pronunciation of his name. “What about you?”

She smiles at him for real for the first time, and there are dimples in her cheeks. “Éponine Thénardier. But you can call me Nina if you wanna.”

She looks him up and down, deciding that she likes his curly blond hair and his bright blue eyes and the little dimple in his chin, even though his head looks too big for his body. And then she asks, “Do you wanna be my best friend?”

He lights up, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes!”

She beams and holds out her hand. “Okay, now we’re best friends.”

He shakes her hand and it seals the deal.

As she sips on her apple juice and he eats his pretzels, he notices how she keeps looking at the lone chocolate chip cookie he has left. He puts down his Ziploc bag of pretzels and looks at the cookie before looking at her. “Do you want it?”

She looks at him through wide eyes, unable to say a word. When she doesn’t say anything after a while, he suggests, “We can split it.”

He takes the cookie and promptly breaks it into two, making sure to offer her the slightly bigger half before taking the littler one for himself. She chomps down on it, and her eyes widen even more. “This is so yummy!” she says through a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.

He beams. “My dad baked it for me!”

After snacktime ends, they draw a picture together, hogging all the good crayons to draw him as the prince trapped in the tower while she’s the brave knight who comes and rescues him, and at recess, they run out onto the playground together, hand in hand, beating everyone else to the swings. And when school ends, she grabs his hand and skips over to where her mom Thérèse is waiting, looking a little bit bored, her gaze darting around at everyone else until Éponine approaches.

“Mom, this is Gabriel,” she says without missing a beat, handing her backpack to her mom. He looks her up and down. Her skin is darker than Éponine’s and her black hair is cut short. “He’s my best friend.”

Her mom furrows her eyebrows and gives her a rather sceptical look, laughing a little incredulously. “That’s nice, Nina. But the two of you only just met today.”

“Well, I asked him if he wanted to be my best friend, and he said yes, so now we’re best friends,” Éponine informs her mom emphatically.

They go away for a bit so he can introduce her to _his_ mom Lucie, as well as his dad Matthieu, pretty much repeating the speech they made earlier to Thérèse. They seem to take it better than Thérèse did, a lot more good-natured about the whole thing and going so far as to take a picture of the two of them to commemorate the day. They go along with it gladly, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, beaming at the camera.

It’s a while until his parents and her mom manage to separate them so they can go home. She rushes to hug him before she has to go, squeezing him tight as he does the same. As she and her mom are walking away, she looks back at him over her shoulder and grins, calling out, “See you tomorrow, Gabe! Bye!”

He returns her big smile and waves. “Bye, Nina!”

And from that day forth, they’re inseparable.


	2. a fake wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A playdate with new friends eventually leads to something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ~~why does the chapter summary sound dirty????? whatever, it's not supposed to be dirty, they're seven, so get your mind out of the gutter :P~~   
> 

* * *

To their delight, they wind up in the same first grade class.

They hold hands as they walk into class after bidding goodbye to his parents and her mother, introducing themselves to the teacher before they put away their backpacks and find themselves desks, sitting next to each other like they always have. They feel so important in their brand-new clothes, bought specifically for the first day of first grade. Her hand finds his under the table and they lace their fingers together, squeezing each other’s hands as the teacher calls their class to order.

The first thing they do is make name tags, so it’ll be easy for the teacher to keep track of them all, and Éponine writes the first three letters of her name too big so she has to squeeze in the rest and it doesn’t look good at all, unlike Enjolras’, whose full name is written in red crayon, in neat block letters. She glances over at his and sticks her tongue out at him, earning herself a laugh and a pat on the head.

At lunchtime, they sit at a long table with the rest of their class, and they find themselves talking to a small girl with golden hair and blue eyes just like Enjolras’ who turns out to be Miss Fantine’s daughter, whose real name is actually Euphrasie but everyone calls her Cosette, and two boys, one with dark, curly hair and mischievous brown eyes and the other with fair hair and grey eyes behind big round glasses like Harry Potter’s. Their name tags read “Adrien Courfeyrac” and “Julien Combeferre”, respectively.

“You were in my mommy’s class,” Cosette says, pointing at Éponine and Enjolras.

Éponine gives her a big smile, displaying two missing front teeth, and puffs out her chest. “Yes, we were!”

“Do you want to play with us at recess?” Combeferre invites rather shyly, mustering a timid smile.

Enjolras smiles back, warm. “Okay.”

Courfeyrac takes it a step further, boldly asking, “Do you want to be best friends?”

Enjolras is just about to open his mouth to respond before Éponine beats him to it, saying a little possessively, “Gabriel is my best friend.” When Courfeyrac’s face visibly falls, she goes silent for several moments before she amends, “But you three can be our second-best friends.”

Combeferre smiles as Courfeyrac positively beams, his previous dismay already forgotten. “Okay, then!”

The five of them play hide and seek during recess and draw pictures of each other during class, passing them around and laughing at each other’s interpretations of them. Éponine tells Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre about how she’s going to get a baby brother next year, and they can all come to her apartment and see him when he finally comes. She doesn’t have to tell Enjolras because he already knows. Cosette and Éponine nickname each other Coco and Panini, because Éponine thinks Coco sounds cute and Cosette mispronounced her name as “Panini” at first. After going over the school rules again at the end of the day, they all go home in high spirits, promising to have their parents schedule a playdate soon.

They steadily grow closer over the course of the next several months, deeming Enjolras’ parents’ Upper East Side penthouse apartment to be their most favourite place to have playdates, with how big and roomy it is and how they can see the Manhattan rooftops from the humongous windows and how the elevator opens directly into the apartment, and it also has a pool and a hot tub on the big terrace. Courfeyrac’s place is their second-favourite because he has two older siblings in middle school who are the coolest people in the world and a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Obi-Wan Kenobi.

One Friday after school, they’re playing at Enjolras’ place. His parents are both at work, so the nanny, Celia, watches them. They build a blanket fort in the living room and play several intense rounds of Mario Kart and have a tea party with his stuffed animals and watch _The Princess Bride_.

They’re nearing the end of the movie when Éponine sits bolt upright, startling Enjolras, who’s lying beside her on the pillows they’d made themselves comfortable on. It quickly catches the other three’s attention. “What is it?” Enjolras asks.

“Let’s get married,” Éponine suggests, to the shock of the rest of them.

When none of them say anything, just staring at her, she gets a little defensive, clarifying, “Not for _real_. Duh. Just for fun.” She juts out her bottom lip, pouting at Enjolras. “Come on, Gabe, it’ll be _fun_ ,” she coaxes. “We can dress up.”

Without waiting to hear what he has to say, she pulls him to his feet, telling the others to do the same. “Coco can be my maid of honour,” Éponine declares. “And Julien can be your best man, Gabe.”

“Then who am I?” Courfeyrac asks indignantly, crossing his arms across his chest and stomping his foot in protest.

Éponine laughs. “You’re the one who’s gonna tell us ‘you may now kiss the bride’, silly!”

Combeferre goes over to Enjolras and links his arm through his. “Let’s find something to wear!”

Cosette frowns a little. “What can Panini wear?”

Éponine takes her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll find something!”

Twenty minutes later, they’ve dismantled the blanket fort to make way for a makeshift aisle. Enjolras wears one of his dad’s suit jackets over his clothes—it comes all the way down to his knees—and Éponine’s wrapped a white bed sheet around herself, another draped over her head. They’ve asked Celia to take pictures all throughout the little ceremony and Éponine just can’t figure out why it looks like the nanny is trying to hold back laughter while she does as they requested.

She decides to ignore it, leaning forward to give Enjolras a quick peck on the lips and laughing at how red his face becomes when Courfeyrac makes a big show of saying, “You may now kiss the bride,” and after, they take more pictures, just the two of them at first, with Éponine and Enjolras grinning at the camera and showing a few gaps where some of their teeth should be, and then Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre join in. Éponine doesn’t notice the lovey-dovey look Enjolras shoots her way for just the fraction of a second when she isn’t looking.

Upon getting home from work, Enjolras’ parents have questions when they walk in on their son attempting to bridal-carry his best friend across the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. And failing thoroughly.


	3. a career day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve got some pretty bold plans for the future.

* * *

Career days come and go every year, but in five years of elementary school, the only career day they really remember is the one in third grade.

Matthieu somehow finds the time to come to their school and give a presentation on what it’s like to be a doctor, white lab coat and stethoscope and all, and Éponine is a little jealous that Enjolras’ dad has a cool job while hers just tricks people out of their money and likes to pickpocket from clueless tourists. When she tells him just as much, he says that Matthieu can be a dad to the _both_ of them, and she likes the idea of that a lot.

A lot of parents come to give presentations on their jobs, but none of them are quite as interesting as Matthieu’s. He’s very thorough and frank in his discussion of what generally goes on in medical practice, presented in such a way that it’s appropriate for nine-year-old kids. Everyone pays attention, rapt, but none are nearly as enthralled as Combeferre is. Directly after Matthieu’s presentation, he declares that one day, he wants to be a doctor too, so he can help people. Enjolras wants to help people as well, but he says he’ll take a different approach to it.

They write essays on what they want to be when they grow up, and Éponine’s out of ideas, so she steals a glance over at Enjolras’ paper to see what he’s written. Her eyes widen a little bit when she sees what he has so far. _I want to be the president of the United States so I can help people._ He senses her staring and looks up, cheeks turning red.

“Is it too crazy?” he asks her, all serious.

She rapidly shakes her head. “No, no! No way! That’s actually really cool that you wanna be president. You can make the world a better place.”

He laughs, the tension leaving him. “Maybe not the _world_. Just the country. But yeah, that’s what I’m going to try to do.”

Éponine grins at him before she looks back at her own blank paper, tapping her pencil incessantly. She jumps a little when she accidentally breaks the lead. “Oh, man,” she whispers. Her voice is only loud enough for Enjolras to hear.

She gets up to go over to the sharpener nailed to the wall above the bin, just by the door, and lets herself think as she sharpens her pencil again, not really paying much attention to it. She kind of wants to be president as well, so she can help people. But that would feel too much like stealing Enjolras’ idea. She doesn’t want to do that. But she can’t think of any other job that she wants to have in the future.

She sharpens her pencil with a little too much gusto, so as a result, it’s considerably shorter than it was before when she heads back to her and Enjolras’ desks, still deep in thought. She muses aloud, “I can be your vice president.”

Enjolras’ face lights up. “That would be so cool.”

“Right?” Éponine beams, scribbling that down. “You’ll live in the White House and I’ll live wherever the vice president lives, but it won’t be too far, because the president and the vice president can’t be too far from each other, can they? And we’ll see each other all the time, because we have to but also because we want to, and we can help make the country a better place for everyone together.”

And with all the idealism of a nine-year-old, she jots all that down, getting a little carried away as she writes out her essay, checking with Enjolras constantly. When it’s time for them to go up in front of the class and explain what they want to be when they grow up and why, they ask the teacher if they can do their presentation together. Their teacher is a little confused, but after a bit of pestering on Éponine’s part, he agrees.

They’re set to go on last, so they sit through everyone else’s presentations first. As they do so, Éponine idly wonders how Courfeyrac or Cosette are handling _their_ presentations somewhere down the hall; they ended up in a different class from Éponine, Enjolras, and Combeferre this year. She thinks she remembers Courfeyrac saying that morning on the bus that he wants to be Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. Last time she saw him, he was still firmly attached to the idea, even after Combeferre told him that Mickey is just a guy in a suit. “So I’ll be the guy in the suit, then,” Courfeyrac declared. Éponine holds back a laugh at the memory.

Enjolras furrows his brow as he glances sideways at her, amused. She’s probably thinking about what Courfeyrac said that morning.

The presentations range from sounding too cool to be real to downright ridiculous—someone says she wants to marry a prince so she can be a princess, while someone else declares their intention to become a professional video game tester. Enjolras has never really understood the appeal of video games. Sure, he likes Mario Kart and Just Dance and Dance Dance Revolution, but that’s it. He doesn’t get why people would want to do it for a living.

At long last, they finally go up to do their presentation together, and sure enough, they wow their classmates with their great ambitions and earn themselves the biggest round of applause once they reach the end of their lengthy explanation as to why they want to become president and vice president. When they sit back down to listen to their teacher talking about what you have to do to get to where you want to go, Éponine laughs under her breath.

“President and vice president,” she comments. “Or maybe you could be president, and I could be First Lady.” She cackles herself hoarse at the idea of it. “Or maybe _I_ could be president, and _you_ could be First Gentleman.”

Enjolras laughs out loud before he quickly shuts up when they both receive a warning look from the teacher. Once their teacher’s back is turned, he whispers to her, “Sure, Nina.”

Éponine scrunches up her face at him before she dissolves into giggles again, setting him off as well. They end up temporarily getting sent out of the room.


	4. a sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re in middle school now and they’ve made some new friends. One of them may or may not be a little jealous.

* * *

With middle school comes new friends, and their friend group expands, if only a little.

There’s someone who went to a different elementary school, Jean Prouvaire, who likes to go by Jehan and is nonbinary and goes by both he/him and they/them pronouns, and a boy named Raphael Grantaire who likes to call himself R and just recently moved to New York from Florida in time for middle school. Éponine takes a liking to Grantaire in particular. Enjolras isn’t sure why that bothers him somewhat.

She sleeps over at his place a lot more often nowadays. It’s not like their sleepovers were ever a rarity before, but now that her family’s been evicted from their old place because her parents failed to pay the rent one too many times and they’ve had to make do with a cramped, terrible apartment consisting of two small bedrooms and a leaky roof, she likes to seek refuge at his family’s penthouse, which is practically a palace to her now, with her new, considerably lower standards. Sometimes she brings her little siblings Azelma and Gavroche along, but more often than not, it’s just her. His parents always welcome them with open arms, though, regardless of whether it’s just her or her with her siblings in tow. She’s grateful for that.

On the eve of his thirteenth birthday, just a little over a month after seventh grade started, she sleeps over at his place, the two of them setting up a big tent in his bedroom and draping fairy lights all over it. They arrange pillows and blankets on the floor of the tent, bringing a flashlight inside. All the lights in his bedroom except for the fairy lights are off, illuminating the room in a soft yellow light, along with the lights of the city from his big floor-to-ceiling windows. The glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling give off a faint green glow.

They crawl into the tent, just lying there in comfortable silence, sharing a pair of earbuds plugged into his iPod and listening to music. Taylor Swift. Enjolras loves her music, almost to the point of obsession. Éponine likes to poke fun at him because of it.

_You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess  
_ _It’s a love story, baby, just say yes_

Éponine hums along, occasionally singing the words under her breath and then giggling to herself, but she quickly notices how Enjolras remains silent, staring at nothing in particular. So she takes his hand and gives it a little squeeze, their fingers intertwined. “What’s up?” she asks, turning to face him.

Enjolras startles a little. “What?”

“You’ve been kind of… off lately,” Éponine clarifies. “More quiet than usual. So what’s up?” A corner of her mouth quirks up in a tiny half-grin then, and she playfully singsongs, “What’s been goin’ on in your life, Gabe, my dude?”

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head as the hint of a smile plays at his lips. She can see the glint of his braces. “Not much, really. You?”

She grins. “R’s teaching me how to play guitar,” she tells him proudly.

His smile wavers slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah!” She leans in closer and whispers confidentially, “He’s not a very good teacher. But I like learning how to play. Even if it makes my fingers hurt.”

He laughs at that, a bit more genuine this time. “I’ve asked you if you want me to teach you how to play piano, or violin,” he murmurs. Try as he might, he can’t help but feel a little hurt, that she’d take Grantaire’s guitar lessons over his offer to teach her how to play the piano, which his mother taught him, or the violin, or both, if she’d like. Not that it’s in any way her fault that she just prefers the guitar over the instruments he knows how to play.

She smiles at him, rather apologetic. “One day.”

They fall silent again, just gazing at each other under the fairy lights and listening to Taylor Swift, until Enjolras speaks again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Raphael lately,” he comments, careful to keep his tone light.

Éponine beams. “Yeah! He’s the best.”

Enjolras smiles, but it’s tight, not quite reaching his eyes. “Is he, now?”

Her smile falls away, and she frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer, simply falls silent once more and avoids eye contact, and she can only study the look on his face, eyebrows furrowed as she attempts to figure out what he’s feeling. After a while, she lets out a little gasp of surprise. “Oh, my God, are you _jealous_?”

“No!” he immediately denies, getting defensive. When she raises her eyebrows at him, he feels his cheeks heat up, and he thanks whoever’s up there for the dim light that prevents her from seeing the fierce blush on his cheeks as he mumbles, “Maybe.”

It stings a little, how Éponine laughs out loud at that, but to her credit, she immediately stops when she sees the look on his face, sees that he’s not joking about this. Softening, she asks, “Why?” When he doesn’t answer right away, she presses, “Do you think he’s—he’s gonna replace you, or something?”

Enjolras still doesn’t make eye contact, looking downwards. “Maybe.”

It’s quiet for another while, and then Éponine squeezes his hand again, prompting him to look back into her eyes. They’ve gone soft, understanding. He thinks he could get lost forever in those deep brown eyes of hers. “Hey,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Nobody’s ever gonna replace you, okay? Nobody can. Sure, he’s one of my best friends, just like Coco and Adrien and Julien and Jehan, but _you’re_ my number one. You’re always gonna be my number one. Forever.”

She lets go of his hand and hooks her pinky through his. “Pinky promise.”

He laughs and manages a little braces-filled smile, returning the gesture and locking their pinky fingers together. “Okay, then. Pinky promise.”

She giggles and they seal the deal, and not long after, they crawl out of the tent to climb onto his giant bed and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Éponine remembers the day they put them up, back in the fourth grade. It took a wobbly stepladder, a particularly careless Courfeyrac, and a very concerned Combeferre to paste them all onto the ceiling. Enjolras applied tape to the back of the stars before handing them to Éponine and Courfeyrac to paste onto the ceiling. Cosette refused to participate, sitting on the giant Snorlax plush in a corner until they were sure they were done. Éponine smiles at the memory.

She lets out a huge yawn then, unable to stifle it, and Enjolras laughs a little at her expense. “I’m going to sleep,” she announces to him, giving him a sleepy little smile and leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. She’s so close, he can count the faint freckles sprinkled across her nose. “G’night, Gabe! Love you.”

As she crawls under the covers, she can hear the smile in his voice as he replies softly, “Good night, Nina. Love you, too.”


	5. a little crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine and Enjolras discuss prospective future career paths until one of them gets distracted. Courfeyrac and Combeferre know something they don’t.

* * *

In their freshman year of high school, they start volunteering all over the place—soup kitchens, homeless shelters, LGBTQ+ centres.

From the beginning, he does it out of a genuine desire to help in any way he can, while she’ll admit that initially she only started doing it for the service hours but eventually grew to like the experience. He doesn’t know that much in regards to poverty, coming from a wealthy upper middle–class family, but he’s aware to some extent, what with bearing witness to Éponine’s experiences and her constantly having to educate his rich white privileged ass. He just never imagined it’s that bad for certain people, especially those who aren’t white or cis or straight. It only makes his desire to help make a change in the world grow stronger.

They’re discussing it one day at lunch, with him trying to figure out a game plan for how to raise awareness on a multitude of different issues within their school while she dutifully listens and occasionally steals the chips off his lunch tray. (She’s doing him a favour. Technically, he isn’t supposed to eat chips with his braces.)

“I think I want to be a lawyer,” Enjolras muses aloud. “Civil or human rights law, maybe. Or environmental law. Or maybe immigration law.”

Éponine barks out a laugh, just straight-up grabbing the bag of chips off his tray. “What happened to our third-grade plans to become president and VP?”

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “Nina, we were in the third grade. I don’t think we really took into consideration the massive amount of work we’d have to do to become president and vice president.”

She grins, sticks a chip between her teeth before crunching down on it and swallowing after a few quick bites, and starts singing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”. He groans and throws a fry at her, but he can’t quite stifle his laughter as she sticks her tongue out at him before she bursts out laughing as well. They’re getting weird looks from others, but neither of them can really find it in themselves to care.

Once they’ve composed themselves, Enjolras says, “Yeah, so I think I want to be a lawyer. _Maybe_ afterwards I can go into politics,” he adds when she raises her eyebrows at him. “Maybe I’ll run for congress.”

Éponine laughs, reaching over to ruffle his golden curls. “Sure thing, babe. You go do that.”

She misses how he blushes at her casual use of the word “babe”, now focused on stealing the over-salted fries off his tray. “Well, then, what do _you_ want to do?” he asks, a little challenging.

“Hey, not all of us have our entire futures figured out at fifteen, asshole,” she huffs, tossing a grape into the air and catching it in her mouth.

“You’re right. Julien has known he wants to be a doctor since we were nine.”

“Don’t be a smartass! That’s my job.”

Enjolras laughs, amused. “Well, what do you think you might want to do in the future?”

Éponine shrugs. “I don’t know. Family law. Social work. Whatever will pay the bills. And also help people out and do something to fix the system. Who knows.”

Her home situation has only gotten worse, what with her mother becoming neglectful while her father has gotten physically and verbally abusive, but she refuses to go to the school counsellor about it, having made Enjolras pinky swear not to tell anyone, for fear of CPS being called and taking her and her siblings away for them to be torn apart in foster care. He honours her wish, but that doesn’t mean he has to like doing it. It’s alarming, seeing her come to school with bruises all up and down her arms, sometimes glimpsing a black eye underneath cheap concealer. He wishes he could find a way to take her and her siblings away from their parents without having to separate them. He wonders if he could get his parents to get custody of them and have them move in. They’ve got the room. And he and Éponine have always wanted to live together.

“We could both be lawyers.” Enjolras smiles at the thought. “It wouldn’t exactly be president and VP, but it would be cool, wouldn’t it?”

Éponine grins and bumps her shoulder against his. “Let’s do it, then.”

He holds his hand out for her to take, and she does, twining their fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze. She gazes at him with a little smile—he’s got an inch or two on her now, after a couple of years of being shorter than her back in elementary school and the two of them being roughly the same height all through middle school, although he’s still a little scrawny, his head still looking a bit too big for his body. But in a cute way, kind of.

Not that she would ever say that out loud to him. They’re best friends. Have been since they were five. It would be weird.

“You’re good at baseball,” she says. “Like, really good. Like, fucking fantastic. Like, I’m sure you’re going to make varsity next year. You’re basically the star of the JV team already. You could probably make it to the big leagues.”

He laughs a little dryly. “I don’t think I could get _that_ far.”

“Oh, shut up, you totally could,” she contradicts. “And you were the lead guy in the winter musical, and now you’re the lead in the spring musical. You could totally be on Broadway. _And_ you’re a straight-A student. Like, you’re on the road to becoming valedictorian in our senior year.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What’s your point?”

“My point _is_ , no matter what you’re going to do in the future, you’re going to be super successful,” she says, pausing to stuff a handful of chips in her mouth, “because you’re perfect at _everything_.”

“I think you’re exaggerating my achievements,” he tells her. “I do believe you’re a little biased.”

“I’m your best friend in the whole fucking universe, of course I’m biased,” she retorts. “But I’m not exaggerating. You _are_ perfect. While I’m a disappointment.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my best friend that way,” he immediately chides. “You’re amazing, Nina. You get good grades, you’re great at track and field, you’re in the school musicals…”

“Yeah, as part of the ensemble,” she points out with a snort. “Adrien is in the school musicals as well, and he plays bigger roles than I do. I think _you’re_ the one exaggerating _my_ achievements.”

“You’re good at math,” he says. “Why don’t you join the mathletes?”

“If you ever ask me that ever again, I _will_ punch you.” She wrinkles her nose at him, disgusted by the very idea of it. Nothing against mathletes, she’s sure they’re lovely people. She just can’t see herself as one of them, ever. “Just because I’m good at math doesn’t mean I want to dedicate my life to it. Hell, I don’t even _like_ math all that much.”

“You’re good at music,” he goes on. “You’ve really gotten good at playing the guitar.”

“Okay, fine, I get what you’re trying to say. I shouldn’t sell myself short, blah blah blah…” Éponine snorts. “You can be super embarrassing sometimes, you know?”

Enjolras only smiles and rolls his eyes. “Pot? Meet kettle.”

Éponine’s just opened her mouth to snippily respond before she glances over Enjolras’ shoulder then, and she forgets what she was about to say, her entire face lighting up. Musichetta Chevalier enters the cafeteria, arm in arm with Cosette, and Enjolras looks behind him to see what the fuck Éponine is looking at. His stomach tightens a little as he looks back and forth between Éponine and Musichetta, sees the adoring look on Éponine’s face as Musichetta and Cosette pass them on their way to get their food.

“Hey!” Cosette acknowledges cheerily when she passes them, Musichetta giving them a little wave and a smile. Éponine grins and waves back, watching as they walk away, and Enjolras gets that weird, intense burning feeling in his stomach again and he doesn’t know _why_. Maybe it’s heartburn.

Éponine laughs a little and turns back to face him, eyes alight, a stupid grin on her face. “Chetta’s so cool, isn’t she?”

Enjolras forces a smile and nods along. “She is.”

Éponine sighs and toys with a lock of her dark hair, absently twirling it around her finger. “You think I have a chance? I know she isn’t straight in _some_ way. I mean, I’m pretty sure.” She pauses, juts out her bottom lip in contemplation. “I mean, I _think_. Why else would she have joined our friend group? Literally none of us are straight. You know?”

“What are you two talking about?” They look up at the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice, the boy sliding into a seat across from them on the round cafeteria table as Combeferre takes a seat beside him.

Éponine doesn’t respond, just lets her gaze drift to Musichetta. Courfeyrac follows it and snorts loudly. “Yeah, dream on, babe.”

Éponine shoots him a sour look. “It could happen! You never know!”

“I believe she’s with Auguste and Bossuet,” Combeferre comments, referring to Auguste Joly and Bossuet de Meaux, who have just recently joined their little friend group along with Musichetta. He looks at her thoughtfully as she and Cosette pass through the line, placing food on their trays and laughing together about something one of them said. It’ll only be a matter of time before they come back to this table and the rest of them will have to shut up. “The three of them are together, I mean.”

Éponine’s mouth falls open before she closes it, lips pursed. “Are they, really?” she asks, and she doesn’t quite manage to mask the disappointment in her voice.

“Yup,” Courfeyrac flippantly confirms, reaching over to swipe one of Éponine’s fries. Enjolras narrows his eyes at him.

“Christ, Adrien, you could at least pretend to show some sympathy,” he chastises, eyebrows furrowing.

“How can I when I can’t really relate?” Courfeyrac tosses the fry into his mouth. As he chews on it, he says thickly, “Everybody loves me.”

Éponine lets out an explosive snort and starts laughing so hard she cackles as Enjolras rolls his eyes, while Combeferre just gives Courfeyrac a strange look and shakes his head in exasperation. Éponine’s laughter soon dies down, and she gazes wistfully at Musichetta. “Well, that’s too bad,” she murmurs. “But good for her and Aug and Bossuet, I guess.”

Courfeyrac reaches across the table and pats her on the head before she swats his hand away. “Hey, cheer up! There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

“There _are_ ,” Combeferre corrects. Courfeyrac sticks his tongue out at him and smacks his arm.

He casts a sideways glance at Enjolras then, having noticed quite a few years ago the way he sometimes looks at Éponine when he thinks nobody else can see, and a little brazenly, he adds, “Who knows? Maybe you’ve already found your fish. Maybe you found your fish a long time ago. But you just haven’t realised it yet.”

Éponine juts out her bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing. “What the hell are you going on about?”

Courfeyrac just smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at her, and he smirks even more when he sees Enjolras turn slightly pink out of the corner of his eye. “I’m just saying.”

Éponine throws a fry at him. “God, I wish R and Jehan had the same lunch period as us,” she mutters. “At least _R_ isn’t so cryptic with shit.”

She feels Enjolras take her hand under the table and give it a squeeze, reassuring, comforting. She looks up to meet his eyes, brown finding blue, and smiles, her cheeks warming up at the way he softly smiles back. Courfeyrac and Combeferre watch them intently and look at each other through raised eyebrows, exchanging similar knowing looks.


	6. a lot of changes around here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gets _hot_ and it catches her completely off-guard. Everybody else notices it, too. She’s not sure why that bothers her so much.

* * *

Enjolras returns from a summer spent in France to visit family at the start of junior year and Éponine is completely thrown off by how fucking _hot_ he’s gotten.

She’s always considered him rather attractive, really, at least from an objective standpoint, having thought so in the back of her mind over the past few years or so, but it only _really_ hits her now, with how he’s finally gotten his braces off, had a bit of a growth spurt resulting in a noticeable height difference of four inches between them, grown out his hair a bit, his head _finally_ no longer looks too big for his body, and, although he’s still lanky for the most part, gained a bit more muscle. What the hell did he get up to in France to come back looking like _that_?

To her annoyance—which is absolutely, completely irrational, she has _no_ right to be feeling as annoyed as she is— _everyone else_ notices as well, to the point where people flock to watch his baseball practices, or join the drama club in order to be able to participate in school musicals as part of the cast or crew because people who aren’t directly involved aren’t allowed to come and watch rehearsals, or join other organisations and clubs and teams he’s involved with at school, such as Model UN or debate club or even their school GSA. It’s a good thing they’re joining, Éponine supposes, but _God_ , they’re joining for all the wrong, superficial reasons! It pisses her off. The fact that, rationally, she knows she has no right to be pissed off just pisses her off even more.

Funnily enough, though, he rarely, if ever, spares the people practically throwing themselves at him a second glance. He doesn’t seem to care about the adoration he gets from their peers as a result of his deep involvement in both theatre and baseball. (Or maybe he really is just genuinely, completely oblivious. Éponine sometimes likes to entertain herself with that thought. It definitely isn’t implausible.) He’s just the same as he’s always been, hanging out with his close friends and using his privilege to help those who have none speak out. He’s been speaking out a lot more, having become more vocal, more confident over the course of the past couple of years, growing into his own skin. By all accounts, he’s a natural leader, with his kindness and charisma. He does have a tendency to get a little carried away when it comes to his occasional spontaneous impassioned speeches on social justice, though. But she kind of loves that about him.

On the second day of school, Courfeyrac introduces them to Marius Pontmercy, who just recently moved to NYC from Rochester to live with his grandfather after his father died. He’s tall and gangly and awkward and Éponine finds him kind of cute, with his sharp cheekbones and pretty hazel eyes and auburn hair and freckled face, even though he can be a bit of a clueless dumbass. But that brief attraction never actually goes anywhere, with how Marius quickly develops a crush on Cosette and whines and pines after her for three months straight, making him an easy target of Grantaire’s ridicule, until Cosette asks him out first and they make it official not long after. So there’s that.

(Éponine remembers her and Cosette’s practice kisses back in their freshman and sophomore years. It’s nice, in an amusing way, to know that Cosette can now put those skills she learned to good use.)

One Saturday in February, they’re all at Enjolras’ place, lounging around his enormous bedroom, textbooks and notes and flashcards strewn across the floor. Éponine’s head dangles off the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she obsessively goes over her English notes. Enjolras sits cross-legged beside her, even more focused than she is. SAT prep is a bitch.

She doesn’t know how many more minutes pass until Grantaire slams his math textbook shut and throws it across the room rather violently, getting to his feet. Most everyone looks up from their books and stares.

“Jesus, what did that math textbook ever do to you?” Musichetta remarks, wrinkling her nose.

Grantaire sticks his tongue out at her before clearing his throat and making a big show out of saying, “I don’t know about you guys, but I, for one, have not retained _anything_ we’ve been studying for the past—” he steals a glance at the wall clock “—four hours. Let’s take a break. Go somewhere. We can save all the studying and cramming for later. Like, next week.”

Bossuet pulls himself into a sitting position, humouring him. “Where would we go?” he asks.

Grantaire shrugs. “Central Park. Tons of shit to do there. Come on, let’s take a walk!”

Enjolras frowns, looking at the flashcards spread out in front of him on top of his duvet. “There’s still a lot we haven’t gone through, though. Maybe we should—”

Éponine promptly reaches up to press a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Gabe. Shut up.” She gives him a sugary smile and cackles when he swats at her arm, rolling his eyes and biting back a smile. “You overwork yourself too damn much. Let’s give ourselves a break. We deserve it.”

So they find themselves walking to Central Park from Enjolras’ apartment building, thankful for the break from their endless studying. Éponine can’t fucking _wait_ to get the SATs over with. She has to get a good score, though, that little voice in the back of her head annoyingly reminds her. But still. She’s grateful for the distraction.

At some point while they wander by the endless row of benches, occasionally stopping to read the quotes engraved on them, Jehan suggests they split up and then meet again at Bethesda Fountain two hours from now. None of them have any real reason to object, so they all go off in pairs or threes, and soon Éponine and Enjolras are the only ones left lingering by the benches.

She looks him up and down before meeting his eyes, and she declares, “I want a piggyback ride.”

He laughs and lets her climb onto his back, hooking his arms under her thighs as her arms hang loosely around his neck, and Éponine leans around to press a little kiss to his cheek. She giggles at how his cheeks flush red, although that could just be from the cold, considering how casual displays of affection are practically second nature for them now after twelve years of being best friends.

“You’ve changed so much,” she lightly comments at some point, once she’s climbed down from his back and they’re walking side by side on Bow Bridge, her hands stuffed deep in her pockets as she kicks at the slush they walk through. She looks up at him and bumps her shoulder against his arm, grinning. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth turns up in an amused half-smile. “How so?”

Éponine gestures vaguely at him, shrugging. “It’s just that—people noticed you before, but because of what you _do_ , you know? Like, school musicals and baseball and everything. And your cafeteria speeches. Your looks were never really a factor. And now, you’re…” Her gaze trails downwards momentarily before she snaps out of it and looks back into his eyes. Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“I mean, you’ve always been good-looking,” she says. “But now you’re, like… _really_ attractive.” Oh, Jesus, she’s _rambling_ now. Lord help her. “And people keep throwing themselves at you because of it.”

Enjolras’ cheeks flame red. It takes everything in him to get the butterflies in his stomach under control. “Well, when you put it like that, then I haven’t changed a bit, really.”

“You have, though,” Éponine argues, a teasing smile on her face. “Physically, at least. Even if you’re still skinny, kind of.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

“But damn, people are really joining Model UN and shit just to get to talk to you!” she points out, reaching out with her gloved hand to brush snow off the banister of the bridge. “Well, at least they’re actually learning stuff. Even if the reasons they joined in the first place were shallow as fuck.”

Enjolras laughs and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “I love you.”

Éponine grins up at him. “Of course you do, I’m a fucking treasure.” When he rolls his eyes in one part fondness and two parts exasperation, her grin grows wider, singsonging, “Love you too, Gabe!”

He drops his arm from around her, shoving his hands back into his coat pockets, and they walk in comfortable silence for a little while more, just taking in the sights around them until Éponine speaks up again. “A lot of people are into you,” she candidly mentions. “Hypothetically, you _could_ be with anyone you wanted.” She looks up at him, fixing him with a vaguely accusatory stare. “So why aren’t you?”

Enjolras tenses a little. She notices how he pauses for a few moments too long before he says at last, “Maybe I’m not interested in having a serious relationship with just anyone right now.”

“Right. You’re demi.” She’s about to leave it at that before she stops in her tracks, so very interested in his word choice. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘ _just_ anyone’? So there _is_ someone?”

Fuck. He _knew_ that sounded weird. He should have been more careful in his wording. “No,” he denies. “Of course not.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, just staring at him for so long it gets uncomfortable, which is saying something considering how they’ve known each other for so long that practically nothing is uncomfortable between the two of them anymore, before she decides to let it go. They’re best friends. They tell each other everything. He’ll tell her when the time is right. If there’s even anything to tell in the first place.

They keep on walking, and at some point, Enjolras speaks up, asking, “Are you going to junior prom?”

“Nah.” Éponine kicks up some slush. “Everyone knows they don’t shell out as much money for junior prom as they do for senior prom. Junior prom’s always held in the school gym.”

“So is homecoming,” he points out. “And we’ve gone to _that_ every year, haven’t we?”

“Well, homecoming’s totally different from prom,” she counters. “It’s way less formal than prom is.” She pauses, then narrows her eyes at him. “Why, are _you_ going to junior prom?”

He shrugs. “If you’re not going, then I probably won’t, honestly.”

“Aww, can’t stand the thought of being there without me, Gabe?” Éponine flashes him a shit-eating grin, bumping her shoulder against his arm again. Enjolras rolls his eyes and lightly shoves her away.

“You’re so full of yourself,” he tells her, but she can detect the fondness in his tone. It makes something warm erupt inside her. When she sticks her tongue out at him and blows a raspberry, he laughs under his breath. “I’m _kidding_. So we’re going to skip prom, then?”

“Yup.” She pops the ‘P’. “We’ll go out for a night on the town instead. It’ll be a fuckin’ blast.”

He laughs again. “Whatever you say, Nina.”

“But we _will_ go to senior prom next year.”

“Definitely.”

They reach Belvedere Castle and gaze out at the water, admiring the way the snow blankets the park, pure white, still having yet to be tainted by footprints and turned into ugly grey slush. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” Éponine comments, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Enjolras steals a sidelong glance at her, and she remains oblivious to the fond gaze he sends her way. “Yes,” he agrees softly. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really appreciate those of you reading this. really. it’s always lovely to receive emails notifying me of comments and/or kudos <3


	7. a need for a distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s received some distressing news. Obviously, his first instinct is to go to her for comfort. She does her best to provide him with just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see that angst tag?? yeah, it starts coming into play here. (give [this](https://youtu.be/tMoW5G5LU08) a listen while you go. i feel it rather fits this chapter, as well as what’s been going on lately in the world. sending love to all those affected by the pandemic ❤️)

* * *

Éponine wakes up one summer night a week before the start of senior year to the sound of light, yet insistent, tapping on her bedroom window.

She gets up to find Enjolras out there on the fire escape, obvious distress written all over his face. Alarmed, she pushes the window open, climbing outside so not to disturb Azelma and Gavroche, who are sleeping in the bunk bed on the other side of the room. It’s a little warm out that night, though not nearly as hot as it would be in the day. Enjolras sits there, rooted to the spot, a numb, blank look on his face.

“Hey,” Éponine murmurs, reaching out to tuck some stray blond curls behind his ear. “What’s up? It’s so late.”

When he doesn’t say anything, she starts getting concerned, reaching out to take his hand and asking softly, “Is everything okay? You’ve kind of been MIA for the past few weeks. Your family didn’t go on vacation, did you?” He shakes his head no. “Then what is it?”

Enjolras still stays silent, and it’s not until a few minutes later does Éponine realise how badly his shoulders are shaking, only noticing the tears streaking his face when he reaches up to hastily wipe them away. She’s seen him cry before, of course—more times than he’s ever seen _her_ cry, anyway, although that could be a result of the fact that she puts on a tough exterior with everyone, even her oldest, closest friend—but nothing to this degree. “What is it?” she asks again, her voice even softer now, a little timid.

His words come out in a hoarse, ragged whisper. “It’s—it’s my mom,” he says, scooting closer to Éponine, leaning into her. “She—she’s been diagnosed with—with—” He starts choking on his words again, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat before he finally manages to croak out, “She’s been diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer.”

Éponine’s mouth falls open as Enjolras begins to cry again, and she can’t think of anything to say, only able to pull him into her arms and hold him tight as he sobs into her shoulder. Numbness overtakes her as she really, truly takes the time to try and process it—Lucie Enjolras has been more of a mother to her than her own mother’s been in these past few years. Her chest aches, blood rushing in her ears as tears prick at her eyes, and she knows that’s nothing compared to what Enjolras must be feeling right now. He’s always been so close to his mother.

She presses her lips into his hair, rubbing his back in what she hopes is a comforting manner as his tears soak into her ratty old Joy Division T-shirt. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, rather surprised by her own ability to keep her tone of voice gentle. “How are you and Lucie and Matthieu holding up?”

He doesn’t answer for another while, the tears overwhelming him, until he finally manages to get them under control long enough to speak coherently. He hiccups a little, his voice rather shaky as he answers, “Mom’s been getting treatment, but we don’t know how much longer she’ll live. The doctor says median survival is three years.” He looks away, gazing down at the streets. “Dad is a mess. We’ve all been going to therapy. I don’t think any of us can really believe that this is happening.”

Éponine reaches out and rubs his back when Enjolras buries his face in his hands and starts crying again, her heart breaking. She can’t stand to see him so upset. She would do anything to put a smile back on his face. “What are you going to do about it?” she asks quietly, delicately.

He shrugs, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “She doesn’t want me to worry too much,” he mumbles. “She’s been sick for a while now; I think she knew this was coming. But she doesn’t want me to get too hung up on it. She told me not to let it ruin my last year of high school. She told me to… distract myself for a bit.” On that last word, his voice cracks, and her heart _breaks_. “I’m not sure if I can.”

“Well, that’s where I come in,” she tells him, and she briefly wonders if this is a little inappropriate, being even the tiniest bit cheerful in the light of such awful news. She goes on nevertheless, pointing out softly, “It’s going to be our senior year, there will be tons of things to distract you. Last first everythings and all that. You know, pep rallies, homecoming, school musicals, baseball games, college apps, fundraisers, _prom_ … We did say we’re going to prom this year, didn’t we?”

Enjolras lets out a watery laugh, managing a tiny smile as he gives the slightest nod. “We did.”

“So we’ll have that to look forward to as well,” Éponine says with a little smile.

His smile grows wider, if only a tiny bit. “Adrien will probably run for homecoming and prom king,” he muses quietly.

“Yeah, and he’ll win both,” she says with a little grin, putting an arm around him. “And he’ll be absolutely insufferable about it.” She nudges him slightly. “We’ll get to watch him win prom king, since we’re actually going this year.”

Enjolras lays his head on her shoulder, and it’s a little awkward considering how he’s quite a bit taller than her, but neither of them can really find it in themselves to care right now. “With each other?” he can’t help but ask, his heart skipping a beat.

Éponine leans her head against his, nodding like it was already obvious. “Well, _duh_.”

“What if we get asked by other people?” he points out, his voice nearly inaudible.

She just smiles, turning her head to bury her face in his hair. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll say no. You’re my best friend, I can’t see myself going with anyone but you.”

She can’t see how his face falls a little. “So we’re going as friends, then?”

Éponine lifts her head back up when Enjolras does the same, a little confused as they meet each other’s eyes, and is it just her, or does she see what looks like vague disappointment clouding his eyes? No, it’s probably just her. “What do you mean? You… _do_ want that, right?”

He just stares at her for a little while more before he musters a smile, shrugging it off. “Never mind. It’s not important. We’re going together, that’s what matters, right?”

Bewilderment flits across her face for a split second before she musters a smile again. “Exactly.” She goes quiet for a few moments before she quips, “I know you used to take ballroom dance, so you’re infinitely better than me at it and I’m apologising in advance if I end up stepping on your foot while we’re slow dancing.”

He manages a little laugh. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

They sit there on the fire escape, gazing out at the city lights, and Éponine reaches over to take Enjolras’ hand when she realises he’s fallen silent again, giving it a squeeze. “How do you feel?” she asks softly. “About your mom, I mean.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” he murmurs, tears beginning to prick at his eyes again. “I always feel like I’m making it all about me.”

“She’s your _mom_ ,” she points out gently. “It affects you as well. You’re her only kid. I’d think it affects you more than anyone else. Not counting her, obviously.”

Enjolras goes quiet again, and Éponine waits patiently for him to say something, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. Ever since they were little, they’ve liked to measure their hands against each other. Hers are so small compared to his now. But they still fit perfectly together. After a good ten minutes, he speaks again.

“I’m scared,” he admits, his voice almost too quiet for her to hear. Her heart aches at the way his voice trembles a bit, and she scoots closer to him. “Nina, I’m so scared.” A tear escapes the corner of his left eye, and more follow as he turns to look at her, red-eyed. “She’s always been there for me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if— _when_ she’s gone.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’m not sure how I’ll make it through senior year with this hanging over my head.”

“Well, like we said, we’ll find distractions,” she reminds him, leaning up to kiss his forehead and unaware of how his face turns a fiery red. “I’m sure Lucie wouldn’t want you to dwell on it to the point where you miss out on all the fun things about senior year.”

Enjolras sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”

Éponine smiles, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, combing it back so she can see his face. “That’s the spirit.”

He gazes at her, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips as he does. Regardless of the circumstances, she always manages to make him feel better, even if it’s in such a little way. She’ll always have his back. He loves that about her. He’ll always have hers too.

“Have you told anyone else yet?” she asks then, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He shakes his head. “No. You’re the first person I’ve told.” He manages a tiny laugh, but it sounds half-hearted. “I don’t think that should come as much of a surprise at this point.”

“Are you going to tell the others?” she questions a little tentatively. “If Lucie lets you, obviously.”

He considers it for several moments. “I’ll tell them whenever I’m ready to tell them about it.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” She puts her arm around his shoulder and pulls him close, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean into her touch, savouring it. He sighs and rests his head on her shoulder, feeling the slight weight of her head against his.

“I love you, Nina,” he murmurs.

She thinks her heart skips a beat. “I love you too, Gabriel.”


	8. an eighteenth birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine turns eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small heads up: this is where chapters start to get longer. the word count per chapter for the rest of the fic will fluctuate between 3k and 10k, give or take. enjoy!!

* * *

Éponine’s eighteenth birthday falls on a Saturday.

She’s barely awake when Enjolras swings by at seven in the morning, the sun barely having risen. The only reason she’s awake at all is because Azelma and Gavroche jumped onto her bed screaming “Happy birthday!” in her face. She almost punched their lights out because of it. (In her defence, she was still half-asleep at the moment.)

Azelma and Gavroche have just snuck the birthday cake they’ve been hiding in the back of the fridge into their room—not a terribly difficult thing to do, really, considering how their parents have been knocked out cold in the tiny space that barely passes for a living room for the better part of the past five hours after coming home late last night, drunk and yelling at the top of their lungs at each other—when Enjolras appears in the window, having climbed up the fire escape. Éponine practically rolls out of bed to go over and open the window to let him in.

“Why don’t you use the damn door like a normal fucking person?” she grumbles a little, but he knows she doesn’t really mean it. He simply laughs and brushes her hair out of her face.

“I’d really rather not have to interact with your parents,” he replies with a sheepish shrug. “No offence.”

“Absolutely none taken.” Éponine climbs back into bed and wraps herself up in the Gryffindor blanket she’d found at a Goodwill a few years ago when she and Grantaire went thrifting, turning away from her siblings and Enjolras and curling up. “Good night!”

“No! You have to blow out the candles first,” Gavroche insists, pulling the blanket off of her. He nearly gets kicked in the face for his troubles.

After a lot of pestering on Azelma and Gavroche’s part while Enjolras just looks on in amusement, Éponine finally relents and sits up in bed, still whining rather petulantly as she does. She doesn’t need to glance in the mirror across the room to know that she must look like a mess, with her secondhand Hayley Kiyoko T-shirt that’s accumulated more than a few holes and stupid brown pyjama pants patterned with Frenchies that Courfeyrac had given to her back when they were in eighth grade, not to mention her bad case of bedhead.

Azelma sets the cake down on the desk in their room and sticks candles into it, Gavroche attempting to light it with the lighter he’d nicked from their dad a while ago until Enjolras takes it from him to light the candles himself. When all the candles are lit and Azelma picks up the cake, Éponine deadpans, “Don’t you dare sing ‘Happy Birthday’ or I swear, I’ll kick all your asses.”

Azelma cackles. “Wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

They don’t sing it to her, but Gavroche still hums the tune as Enjolras tells her to blow out the candles, having propped his phone up on the desk to record the moment. She considers demanding that he delete it later but decides against it. Besides, it could be something for them to laugh about ten years from now.

“So how does it feel to be legal?” Azelma questions once Éponine’s blown out the candles, putting the cake back in its box for later after they cut out a few slices for themselves.

Éponine snorts, licking some frosting off her finger. “I don’t consider myself legal until I can buy alcohol without having to use my fake ID.”

Azelma rolls her eyes and tucks her curly red hair behind her ear, looking Enjolras up and down. “So what are your plans for today?” she questions, directing the question at both her sister and Enjolras.

Éponine shrugs, sticking a bit of cake in her mouth. Mm. Rainbow cake. “I don’t know. We’ll probably just go out. Have some fun.”

“I made a reservation for dinner at Benihana,” Enjolras says. “All the others are going to be there.” He glances at Éponine, cheeks tinged a little red. “And my parents and Fantine are coming too, if you’re okay with that…”

“Oh, as long as you didn’t invite my parents, you’re good,” she says through a mouthful of cake. She looks down at her paper plate and freezes up in dismay. “Oh, shit. We won’t be able to use this cake later.”

He laughs and ruffles her hair. “It’s fine. I bought another cake.”

She looks him up and down—he’s already fully dressed, with a _Great Comet_ T-shirt under his Hufflepuff scarf and denim jacket paired with corduroy pants and red Chucks. Great. She must look like even more of a mess next to him. Honestly, it’s kind of funny.

“Hey, take a picture of us,” Éponine says, handing Azelma her phone.

Azelma frowns as she takes Éponine’s phone. “Why? You look like pure shit right now.”

“Gee, thanks,” Éponine deadpans, punching Azelma in the shoulder. “Just do it. Hey, Gabe, c’mere.”

Enjolras just chuckles and does as he’s told, sitting on the edge of Éponine’s bed and letting her put arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder, grinning for the camera and laughing when he pulls a stupid face just to get a laugh out of her. Belatedly, realises she probably has terrible morning breath. Oh, well. She’s going to shower right after this anyway.

She hops in and out of the shower in no time, and once she’s dressed, Azelma and Gavroche get up and say something or other about how Grantaire’s invited them over and they gotta bounce. Éponine snorts as she and Enjolras watch them scamper down the fire escape. Just like them to _ditch_ their _sister_ on her _birthday_. (She knows she’ll see them again tonight at Benihana, but _still_.)

“So,” Éponine chirps as she places her brown newsboy cap on her head, shoves her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket after haphazardly lacing up her worn black high-top Chucks and tossing her Gryffindor scarf on, “what are the plans for today, chief?”

Enjolras shrugs as he steps out onto the fire escape after she does. “Your call. It’s _your_ birthday, after all.”

Éponine groans as she climbs down the rickety old ladder and hops down onto the pavement, Enjolras close behind. “There are so many things I want to do, though!” She affects a Southern belle accent, not unlike Enjolras’ mother’s, as she bemoans, “How on _earth_ am I supposed to choose?”

He laughs, unfazed by her antics. “Do you want to start by getting rush tickets for a show? If we hurry, the line won’t be too long.”

She lights up at the suggestion. Huh, how come she hadn’t considered that? “Ooh, let’s go!”

Half an hour and several subway stops later, they’re standing in line at the _Miss Saigon_ box office, managing to score two tickets for seats in the mezzanine for the matinee show, so by the time they’ve gotten out of the line, they have about four hours before the show. So Éponine drags Enjolras to the arcade they’ve frequented since they were kids, gravitating towards DDR like they always have.

Afterwards, once they’ve tired themselves out and are on their way to the nearest Popeyes for lunch, Éponine comments, “Y’know, if you didn’t say you’d made a reservation for dinner, I would’ve suggested we go out to a club or something. With our fake IDs.”

(She remembers how surprised she had been to find out he already had a fake ID, back when they skipped junior prom in favour of a night on the town last year. She’d convinced him to go to a nightclub using the fake IDs she’d acquired from Grantaire, only to find out he already had one of his own, also from Grantaire. When she’d demanded to know why she hadn’t known about this before that night and when he got it, he’d sheepishly admitted that he got it in their freshman year, but only so he would be able to vote. She thinks she nearly hacked up a lung, she was laughing so hard for what felt like at _least_ ten minutes straight after that confession. Sometimes she wonders how she wound up befriending such a damn nerd.)

Enjolras makes a face. “God, no.”

She laughs out loud and bumps her shoulder against his arm, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a teasing grin. “Remember what happened last time we went to a club?”

He winces. “In all honesty, I try not to.”

At that, she practically cackles, taking her hands out of her pockets to link her arm through his. She wonders how she’s only now noticing how he grew another two inches over winter break, easily six feet tall, the height difference between them becoming really pronounced now. Meanwhile, she stopped growing in ninth grade. She’s not short, by any means, but she isn’t exactly what one would truly consider tall either. And she sure _feels_ short next to him, with how he’s six inches taller than her. The world is cruel.

“Everyone else was dancing the night away in the school gym,” Éponine so helpfully reminds him, “while we were up in the club letting loose to Beyoncé and poisoning our poor livers with too many tequila slammers.”

“Yes, I remember, thank you, Éponine.” Enjolras rolls his eyes. She sticks her tongue out at him and laughs.

Over chicken and fries and two large sodas later on, Éponine asks through a mouthful of fried chicken, “So are you excited for prom next month?”

Enjolras shrugs. “You still haven’t told me what colour dress you’re wearing.”

She slaps a hand to her face, accidentally smearing some ketchup on her cheek. “Oh, shit, remind me later. I already have it, I’ll send you a pic when I get home so you can finally get a tux. Sorry.”

He laughs, shaking his head fondly and reaching across the table with a napkin to wipe the ketchup off her cheek. “It’s okay.” He takes a moment to chew on a fry before swallowing and asking, “Do you want a corsage?”

“Sure, why not?” She takes a huge gulp of her soda. “I’m assuming you’ll want a boutonnière, then.”

“Only if you can afford one. I’ll be fine whether or not you get one for me, really.”

“Nah, I’ll get you one. It’s equality.”

He laughs and bows his head, smiling a little goofily to himself. “Alright, then. If you say so.”

She scrunches up her face at him and grins. “I do say so.”

She returns all her attention to her food, missing the affectionate look he sends her way.

* * *

“The guy who played Chris kinda looks a little like Jehan, didn’t he?” Éponine comments as she and Enjolras stroll out of the theatre. For a moment, she contemplates stage-dooring, but decides against it. “But, like, ten years older and not ginger.”

Enjolras laughs, burying his hands in his jacket pockets. “Jehan’s more strawberry blond than ginger, I think. And I’m surprised you noticed. You were so focused on the helicopter.”

“Can you _blame_ me? I mean! A _helicopter_ on _stage_! That’s fucking crazy!”

She leans over to steal a glance at his watch, seeing that they’ve got a few hours before dinner at Benihana. As she softly hums “Sun and Moon” to herself while they walk, she gets an idea in her head and promptly stops in her tracks, letting out a tiny gasp. “Holy shit!”

“What is it?” Enjolras spins to look at her, alarmed.

“We should get matching tattoos,” she says. “Sun and moon. Sun for you, moon for me.”

He frowns, glancing at his watch in concern. “Are you sure we have enough time before dinner? You wouldn’t want to be late to your own birthday dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind if we’re, like, fifteen minutes late.” She grabs his hand, starts dragging him towards the closest subway stop. “It’s _my_ birthday, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

She still remembers the tattoo shop she’d gone to with Grantaire on _his_ birthday last December, when he’d decided he wanted to get a tattoo of something or other and requested that she accompany him, so they take the subway there. She practically bounces the whole way. It’s a good tattoo shop—Jehan had painstakingly researched good, _safe_ tattoo shops when Grantaire first declared his intent to get a tattoo on his eighteenth birthday—so it’s a little on the expensive side. At that mental reminder, Éponine’s face falls.

“On second thought,” she says uncertainly, “maybe we shouldn’t.”

Enjolras gives her a curious look, rather bewildered. “What? Nina, the tattoo shop is right there.” He gestures towards the shop across the street. “You were so hellbent on getting tattoos on our way here.”

“They’re expensive,” she says. “I can’t afford it.”

“Well, then, I’ll pay for it,” he tells her. She’s just about to open her mouth to protest when he shushes her. “It’s your birthday, let me pay for it. Think of it as a birthday gift.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Oh, so this is actually really convenient for you because you didn’t get me an actual birthday present.”

He purses his lips, a little hurt. “Nina, do you really think your best friend of thirteen years would forget to get you a birthday gift?”

She cackles and swats at his arm. “Dumbass! I was just fucking with you.” She pauses for a moment, before saying, “But you’re still paying for the tattoos.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, of course.”

An hour and a half later, they walk out of the tattoo shop sporting fresh new tattoos on their forearms, with hers on her left wrist and his on his right. They’re nothing too elaborate—she’s got the moon while he’s got the sun, firm black strokes against still-red skin. She likes how minimalist they look. She especially likes how when they clasp hands, their tattoos line up.

(It was a little weird at first with the tattoo artist who did their tattoos, though. She’d immediately assumed they were a couple. They’d immediately denied it and told her they weren’t. Éponine kind of thinks the tattoo artist still didn’t look completely convinced by the time they were done. Weird.)

“How do you think your parents will react?” she asks once they’re on the subway, on their way to Benihana. “We did kind of get these on a whim.” She tugs down the sleeve of her leather jacket to gaze at the little moon tattooed on her wrist. The redness is starting to fade.

“‘Kind of’?” He lets out a little laugh. “We’re eighteen. They won’t mind.”

They don’t speak again until they’re yards away from the restaurant, when she asks, “So when will you be giving me my birthday present?”

“Your birthday gifts are all at my place,” he tells her. “You can come over after dinner? Or I can have them brought to your place, if you’d prefer that.”

Éponine pushes open the door to the restaurant, Enjolras giving his name for the reservation to the maître d’ as she laughs and says, “I think I can spare some time and come over after dinner. I want to see what y’all got for me.”

“‘Y’all’?” Enjolras cocks his head, smiling rather incredulously. “Have you been spending time with my parents?”

Éponine throws her head back and laughs so hard she cackles, elbowing him in the ribs. “Let’s _go_ , I’m fucking hungry and we’re already ten minutes late.”

He laughs and puts his arm around her shoulders as a waitress guides them to their table, doing his best Cary Elwes impression as he says, “As you wish.”

* * *

His parents go to bed as soon as they get home, telling Éponine that she’s always welcome to stay the night if she’d like before they go up to their bedroom. She isn’t really planning on staying that particular night, but she appreciates the sentiment all the same.

“I want my presents!” she says a little petulantly for what’s probably the millionth time as she takes the stairs two at a time, Enjolras close behind, on their way to his room.

He laughs rather wryly as he catches up to her, passes her, reaches his door first. “Jesus, _okay_ , just _wait_. You’re so impatient.”

Éponine rolls her eyes and shoves past him the moment he opens his bedroom door, kicking her shoes off, scanning the room for any sign of presents and frowning when she sees none. Turning around to Enjolras, who’s just closed the bedroom door, she raises her eyebrows. “Well? Where are they?”

Wordlessly, he disappears into his walk-in closet before emerging shortly afterwards with a single package, big and covered in shiny red wrapping paper. She scrunches up her face, eyebrows furrowing as she sits down on his bed, crossing her legs. “What’s that?” she asks curiously as he sets it down on the bed.

He gestures to the package. “Open it.”

Over the years, he’s observed the stark differences in the ways they each opened presents—he always opens gifts carefully, methodically, prying off the double-sided tape so not to tear the wrapping paper, while she just goes and rips everything up, slapdash and careless. This time is no exception, he thinks in amusement as he watches the way she haphazardly tears the wrapping paper to get to what’s inside. She frowns at the sight of a big cardboard box.

“What’s in here?” she asks a little suspiciously.

He laughs and pats the box. “Just _open it_.”

So she does, and she gasps when she finally sees what it is.

Hands shaking slightly, she reaches in to take out the gorgeous forest-green acoustic guitar laying inside, running her hands over it like she’s struggling to believe it’s real. She runs her fingers over the strings, plucking at a couple of them and laughing rather disbelievingly to herself. She glances at him and then back at the guitar, murmuring, “What…?”

“I know you’ve really grown to love playing the guitar,” Enjolras says. “And you’ve always had to keep borrowing the school’s guitars, or R’s, so we all chipped in some money to buy you your own.”

Éponine bites her lip, reaches up to hastily wipe at her eyes. “ _Wow_. Gabe, I—I don’t know what to say, oh, my God…”

“You could start by saying thank you,” he suggests, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

She shoves him, still laughing incredulously. “Thank you. Shut up. You know what I mean.” She cradles the guitar in her lap, holding it almost like one would a baby. “Oh, my God, this is _gorgeous_. I love it.” She experimentally strums on it, pleased to find that it’s already in tune. She looks back up to meet his eyes. “Is this all?”

“Oh, wait a bit. There’s one more.” He scoots over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer to take out a thin, rectangular velvet box in a shade of deep crimson, moving back to the foot of the bed and handing her the box. When she takes it, meeting his gaze with a questioning look, he says, “This one is just from me.”

She furrows her eyebrows with a curious little smile as she looks down and opens the box, eager to see what’s inside. She finds a locket.

It’s heart-shaped, white gold, the edges embellished with floral patterns and swirls. She gingerly takes the locket out of its case and opens it to find a minuscule photograph of the two of them from last October, when they’d dressed up as Captain America and Agent Carter for Halloween. Éponine vividly remembers how Lucie had done everything she could in her attempt to slick down Enjolras’ hair before they all decided that he would just have to be a curly-haired Steve Rogers, and she giggles a little to herself at the memory, reaching up to wipe away the tears she hadn’t realised had welled up in her eyes.

“So… do you like it?” Enjolras asked, an anxious edge to his voice upon seeing how she teared up.

Éponine nods rapidly, sniffling a little as she blinks back her tears. _Jesus Christ, Éponine, get a grip,_ she scolds herself. Abruptly, she surges forward and throws her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, half-laughing, half-crying. “Gabriel, I _love_ it,” she exclaims, gasping out a little laugh as she draws back, murmuring, “God, I’m never going to be able to top this…”

“Of course you will. As long as it comes from the heart,” he says in complete earnest, a little smile on his face. She lets out another watery laugh and nods, wiping at her eyes.

“Can you put it on?” she requests, handing him the locket and pulling her hair back. He does as she asks, unclasping the thin white-gold chain to clasp it around her neck. She looks down with a tiny grin to gaze at the locket resting against her chest.

“Are you going to wear it to prom?” he questions playfully.

She pretends to scoff. “Is that even a question? Duh. I think it’ll look really great with my dress.” At that reminder, she jolts, putting her cap back on. “Speaking of which, I should really get going. Gotta send you a pic of my dress, after all.”

He laughs and gets up when she does, following her to the door before stopping in his tracks. “Wait, what about your guitar? We got you a guitar case as well, it’s somewhere in my closet, just let me find it—”

“Actually,” she interjects, taking his hand and stopping him, “can I keep it here at your place? It’s just… my dad. You know how he is. Sometimes when he gets really pissed at me, he’d get back at me by wrecking my shit. I’d really rather not get my guitar wrecked.”

He stops, concern clouding his blue eyes momentarily. He knows her home situation is far from okay, but this is the first time he’s heard about this. “He isn’t… hurting you with them, right?”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sometimes he throws stuff at me. He misses most of the time. It’s fine, really.”

His shoulders tense. It _isn’t_ fine. He’s about to say as much before he sees the warning glint in her eyes, silently telling him to drop the subject before things get ugly, so he does, though it’s mostly because he’d really rather not have another argument with her about this particular matter on her birthday. It’s heartbreaking, seeing how she’s gotten so used to her father’s abuse that she’s reached a point where she just talks about it in such a cavalier manner. He sorely wishes there was more he could do.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it here for you.”

She smiles at him, sincere, grateful to him for not pressing further in regards to her issues at home. “Thank you.”

She surprises him then, standing on tiptoe to throw her arms around him and pull him close into a hug, a hug which he immediately, instinctively returns, bending down slightly so he can hug her properly, arms wrapped tight around her. She giggles into his shoulder before she draws back, murmuring, “I love you, Gabe.”

For some reason, her words make something inside him flutter. “I love you too, Nina.”

He walks her downstairs into the living room, to the elevator, about to see her off there before deciding to walk her all the way to the subway station, kissing her forehead before she gets onto the train, her subway car nearly empty due to the late hour. He watches as she swings around one of the metal poles and meets his eyes through the window, grinning at him and giving him a little wave with her left hand, the sleeve of her jacket falling slightly and giving him a glimpse of her tattoo. He chuckles and waves back, with his right hand, watching as the train begins to move and picks up speed before disappearing into the tunnel and out of sight.

For a few moments there, Enjolras gazes at the little sun branded onto his skin on his inner wrist, a permanent mark of his and Éponine’s friendship, before he shoves his hands into his pockets and ascends the stairs onto the pavement, walking back to his building, Éponine’s bright-eyed smile lingering in the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i imagine éponine's guitar as looking like taylor swift's green guitar from the reputation stadium tour lol)


	9. a dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After forgoing junior prom last year, Éponine and Enjolras attend senior prom together along with the rest of the gang. One of them has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, happy pride month, and happy barricade day!! in light of recent events, i have a Lot to say—a lot more so than usual, anyway—but i'll be putting it in the end notes of this chapter so not to clog up the notes at the beginning.
> 
> i saved this chapter for barricade day because it's a bit of a turning point in the story. onwards, shall we?
> 
> content warning for references to underage drinking.

* * *

By the time senior prom rolls around, Éponine’s rejected five invites while Enjolras has declined eight.

She’s a little miffed that more people asked him than her, and she tells him as much, but he takes it all in stride, well aware of how she’s just joking. Mostly. Privately, she thinks it’s kind of funny how so many people wasted elaborate promposals on him when he’s made it clear multiple times that he’s going with her. Even if it is just as friends. Not that there’s anything “just” about friendship, of course. It’s so important. Hell, they even got tattoos to symbolise theirs. But for some reason, she can’t quite shake the feeling that she wants something else as well.

All these months later, she _still_ wonders what the hell he could have possibly meant, that night on her fire escape, when their conversation had taken a turn from his mother’s cancer diagnosis to senior prom. _“So we’re going as friends, then?”_ For some inexplicable, ridiculous reason, she gets butterflies in her stomach every time she thinks back to it, trying to figure out what the hell he was trying to say with that.

She tries not to overthink it too much. She’d only drive herself crazy in doing so.

The day of prom finally arrives and she turns up at Enjolras’ place at three in the afternoon, a good four hours before prom starts, a little makeup kit, an overnight case, and the garment bag containing her prom dress in tow. Lucie greets her when she steps out of the elevator. She looks a little more gaunt than usual, with a scarf wrapped around her thinning blonde hair, face a little pale, blue eyes tired. Still, she greets Éponine with a warm smile, telling her, “Gabriel’s in his room, you can go meet him there.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Lucie.” Éponine graciously smiles back and gives Lucie a quick hug before she heads upstairs to Enjolras’ room, finding him sitting in the round black swing chair in a corner by the windows, engrossed in a book. He startles a little at the sound of the door opening, letting loose a breath of relief when he sees that it’s just Éponine.

“Jesus Christ, Nina, you scared me.” He sets his book aside and gets to his feet as she dumps her garment bag and makeup kit on his bed, rather unceremoniously depositing her overnight case on the floor by the foot of the bed. She turns to him as he approaches her, and she knows he’s started regularly working out as of late, but huh, how come she’s never really noticed before how he’s finally filled out his formerly gangly figure? “You _are_ aware that knocking is a thing, right?”

Éponine rolls her eyes, throwing him a playful grin. “Oh, please, we’ve been best friends for thirteen years, we’re _well_ past that.”

Enjolras chuckles and glances at the wall clock, noting how it’s still very much light out. “What are you doing here so early? Prom doesn’t start for another four hours.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, absently toying with her locket. “Well, you see, _I_ don’t have the luxury of being able to just comb my hair back and throw on a tux. Since society has set absurdly high beauty standards for women and women-aligned people, _much_ higher than they are for men and men-aligned folks, I might add, I have to get a head start on doing my hair and makeup if I don’t want to be all in a rush.”

“Alright, I get the picture.” He sits down on the bed, patting the space beside him for her to sit down on. She does, and after a few moments, he says a little sceptically, “Are you sure you know how to do makeup, though?”

Éponine flips him off and roughly shoves him with a huff, shooting him a dirty look. Enjolras falls back onto the bed, laughing. She rolls her eyes, but his laughter is infectious.

“You’re an ass, Gabriel Enjolras,” she announces sourly before she gets to her feet, grabbing the garment bag and makeup kit and pretending to salute him as she goes on her way to his bathroom. “See you later, Gabe!” she trills, throwing him a smirk before she shuts the door behind her.

He knows it takes a while to do hair and makeup, but _really_. Four hours seems kind of excessive.

Enjolras isn’t sure for how long Éponine’s in the bathroom, but it’s more than enough time for him to put on his tuxedo and do next to nothing about his blond curls, choosing to leave them as they are for the most part. Éponine’s said she likes it better that way anyway. (Not that that has anything to do with his final decision to leave his hair as it is. Definitely not.) She calls out to him occasionally from inside the bathroom, asking questions such as where they’ll be meeting their friends (outside of the venue itself, obviously), if they’ll be grabbing a bite beforehand (no, there’ll be plenty of food at the prom itself), whether or not there’ll be any pregaming (absolutely not, he’d really rather not black out during his senior prom and miss out on enjoying the full experience, and besides, what happened the last time they got drunk is irreversibly etched into his memory, with their wicked hangovers and her puking her guts out as he held her hair back the morning after).

He’s struggling a little with his bow tie when he glimpses through his mirror Éponine finally stepping out of the bathroom, and when he sees her, he thinks he stops breathing for a solid minute or two.

He’s seen her dress before, of course, when she sent a picture of it to him after she bought it so he could find a tux that matches, but seeing it on the hanger in a photograph is nothing compared to seeing it on her in person now. Satin, off-shoulder, deep crimson—only a few shades lighter than his burgundy tux—with a beaded belt and a flowing skirt. He notices the black velvet ankle-strap block heels she’s wearing under her dress when she pulls up her skirt so she can walk without tripping over the hem of her dress. His gaze trails up again, noticing her makeup, practically invisible for the most part except for her intricate eye makeup and especially her lips, which are stained crimson, practically the same colour as her dress. Her bangs have been brushed out, a waterfall braid meticulously woven through her curled brown hair. Her locket rests against her chest, the white gold standing out against the deep red, and when she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, he catches a glimpse of the little moon tattooed on her inner wrist.

She looks _stunning_.

Enjolras must stand there staring at her like an idiot for far too long, for eventually Éponine huffs and crosses her arms across her chest a little self-consciously. “Well?” she asks, cocking her head, expectant. “What do you think?”

“Éponine, you…” He swallows hard, trying to come up with the right words. “You look beautiful. Not—not that you don’t always do,” he adds hastily when she raises her eyebrows. “Not that I notice or anything. But… wow.”

He thinks he can see spots of pink blooming in her cheeks as she stands up a little straighter. “You really think so?”

He nods wordlessly, and she smiles at him, a little shy all of a sudden. It’s strange. She’s never been shy around him before. “I spent a lot of money on these. Good to know it was worth it.”

He laughs then, evoking a laugh from her as well, and he sheepishly holds up his bow tie. “I, um. I need some help with my tie.”

Éponine laughs even louder and goes over to him, helping him tie his bow tie, careful, precise, her gaze fixed on the tie, completely focused. Enjolras watches her a little breathlessly as she does, noticing how her heels lessen the height difference between them. He wonders if she can sense his heart racing under his tux.

She lingers a little when she’s done, slowly looking up to meet his eyes, and only then do they realise how close together they’re standing. She blinks once, and the spell is broken; blushing fiercely, she takes a step back, her hand dragging up to ruffle his hair. “Don’t you look dashing?” she remarks with a little grin, only half-joking. He looks like a five-course meal in his tux. That’s how Courfeyrac would put it, or at least that’s what she tells herself. She offhandedly wonders if he had it tailored to fit him perfectly. He probably did. It’s not implausible, considering how wealthy his family is. “You know, for a second there, I thought you might’ve been in love with me or something.”

Enjolras manages a nervous laugh, sorely hoping he doesn’t _sound_ as nervous as he feels. “Nina, you’re always going to be the girl who ate an entire sheet of cookie dough and threw up all over my new shoes in the third grade, okay?” he reminds her with a slight roll of his eyes in his attempt to remain casual. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Éponine pouts, feigning hurt, and swats at his arm, but she’s laughing, and now she’s got him joining in on her laughter as well. Once their laughter dies down, his gaze trails down to her dress. It looks absolutely gorgeous on her, the deep crimson hue complementing her olive complexion perfectly, the fitted bodice accentuating her slim figure.

“I like your dress,” he comments softly, sincerely.

She brightens. “It has pockets!” To prove it, she slips her hands into the pockets of her dress and pulls out her phone from the right pocket, and Enjolras laughs.

He holds out his arm for her to take only to stop short, dropping his arm. “Wait, I almost forgot something.”

On his desk lies the corsage he bought for her, flowers all in white and deep red to match her dress. She grins a little obnoxiously and sticks out her left arm so he can tie the corsage onto her wrist, making sure to keep her tattoo visible because she would probably want it that way. Once that’s done with, she takes a matching boutonnière out of her left pocket—it’s a miracle it didn’t get crushed in there, Enjolras wryly thinks—and tucks it into the buttonhole on the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. _Then_ he holds his arm out for her to take. “Shall we go?”

She grins at him through a scrunched-up face and takes his arm, the two of them heading out of his bedroom and down the stairs, his parents waiting for them at the foot of the staircase. Éponine thinks Lucie actually starts tearing up a little.

Taking the prom photos is a whole ordeal and a half—his parents keep trying to get them to stand still on the stairs while they (mostly Éponine) keep fooling around and laughing together about it until Matthieu reminds them that they might be late if they don’t get this done with. So they go along with it, his arm around her waist and hers around his. Lucie wipes at her eyes by the time they’re finished, just about to take the elevator downstairs.

Enjolras hugs his parents goodbye, kissing his mother on the cheek before it’s really time for them to go. As they step into the elevator, hand in hand, Lucie calls out, “Have fun!”

Once they get into Enjolras’ car, Éponine takes out her phone to text Azelma.

**me: i’ll be sleeping over at gabe’s place tonight don’t wait up**

It’s not even five minutes later when her phone buzzes with a response.

**bitch 😘: have fun 🤪😏🍆💦**

Éponine makes a little strangled noise, coughing rather violently and nearly making Enjolras run a red light. He steals a quick glance over at her, alarmed. “What is it?”

Éponine clears her throat, gesturing to the phone in her lap. “It’s nothing. Just Zel being an ass.”

Enjolras purses his lips. Jesus, she scared him, and over nothing. “Alright, then.”

Éponine texts a single middle-finger emoji back at Azelma before she turns off her phone, messing with the radio. It’s a half-hour drive to Chelsea Piers, the prom committee having decided on Sunset Terrace as the venue, so she entertains herself by singing along to the music on the radio as Enjolras drives. It feels like barely any time has passed when they arrive at the venue, the sun on the verge of beginning to set.

They find a parking spot and meet their friends at the front, and Grantaire wolf-whistles at the sight of them, grinning like an idiot. “You two look hot!” he calls out as they approach, arm in arm.

Éponine scrunches up her face at him and grins back. “We do, don’t we?”

She looks around at the others, noticing how Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Marius aren’t there yet. She enquires after it and Musichetta’s gaze trails elsewhere as she says, rather deadpan, “Here they come right now.”

Éponine and Enjolras turn around in tandem to see a stretch limousine pulling up in front, the car door opening seconds after it halts to a stop, and Courfeyrac steps out, giving them all finger guns and a giant grin. “All hail your prom king!” he hoots.

“How do you know you’re going to win?” Joly questions, raising his eyebrows.

Courfeyrac shrugs as he goes to stand by Combeferre. “I just do.”

Cosette and Marius step out after him, Cosette rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Courfeyrac’s antics and Marius all googly-eyed for her, and Éponine pretends to scoff at him, though she’s laughing. After a bit, Jehan calls out, “Shall we go in?”

Grantaire throws his hands up into the air and whoops. “Let’s get this fuckin’ party started!”

* * *

Prom turns out to be way more fun than Éponine initially expected it to be. She doesn’t know why she expected any less, considering how senior prom is widely known to be superior to junior prom in every possible way, but still, it surprises her just how _fun_ it is.

All eleven of them take turns taking photos at the entrance before they all take a big group picture, and afterwards once they hit the dance floor, Éponine and Enjolras are at each other’s side nearly the entire time, dancing horrendously, grabbing each other’s hands and spinning around and around to “Shut Up and Dance” until they’re giggling like mad and too dizzy to see straight, yelling along to Lady Gaga and Beyoncé, screaming out the words to “Dancing Queen” until they’re hoarse. She steadfastly ignores the way her heart rate rises each time his fingers brush against her skin, which is ridiculous, considering how it’s nothing out of the ordinary for them. They’ve been best friends for _thirteen years_ , for Christ’s sake.

After tiring herself out jumping up and down to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody”, Éponine tells Enjolras to wait for her a bit before she stumbles off to the drinks table, grabbing a cup. She’s just about to ladle some punch into it—briefly, she wonders if it’s been spiked already and laughs to herself at the thought—just she stops short as a girl approaches and just sort of stands there. Éponine looks up, a little bemused. “Can I help you?”

“You’re here with Gabriel Enjolras, right?” the girl asks in lieu of a greeting or introduction or anything of the sort. Éponine nods slowly, wondering what she wants. She vaguely recognises the girl as one of the people who asked him to prom only to get rejected.

“Yeah, I am,” she confirms.

The girl shifts from one foot to another and Éponine looks her up and down, taking in her perfectly coiffed sunny-blonde hair, her teal dress with the high slit and plunging neckline, her sparkly silver stilettos, her mild case of cake face. “Are you two, like, a thing, then?”

“No,” Éponine replies. It kind of irks her to have to say that and she doesn’t know _why_. “We’re friends. Best friends. So we decided to go together.”

The girl stares at her a little suspiciously through pale grey eyes. “So he’s single, then?”

Éponine slowly nods again. For some reason, her stomach tightens. She absently rubs the tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. “Yes.”

“So if I wanted to, I could dance with him, then?”

What the hell is _with_ this girl and constantly ending her sentences with “then”? For reasons she herself can’t understand, Éponine gets defensive, saying a little too sharply, “You know, even if it _is_ just as friends, he’s still here with _me_. So no.” And she chugs her punch and stalks away without another word, wondering what the fuck’s gotten into her.

She finds Enjolras on the dance floor, amused by how he and Combeferre have to bend down a bit to accommodate Courfeyrac’s arms being slung around their shoulders due to the significant height difference between the former two and the latter, who’s loudly singing along to “We Are Young”. He’s a little pitchy.

The song ends and Enjolras goes back over to Éponine as Courfeyrac drags Combeferre into some bizarre jig to “Come On Eileen”, asking lightly, “What’s up? You were gone for longer than I expected.”

She shrugs, dismissive as she absently toys with her locket. “It was nothing. Just that one of the people you rejected asked about you. Some white girl. Wondered if you’d dance with her because technically, you’re single.”

Under the lights, she thinks he actually turns white. “I hope you told her no.”

She grins, reaching up to tuck some of his hair behind his ear. “Why does it matter so much to you if I did or not?” she jokes. When he blanches even more, she throws her head back and laughs out loud, saying, “I’m _kidding_. Of course I did. You’re here with me, remember?”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. His stomach does a little backflip at her reminder, though why, he’s still not sure.

An hour into the dance, they crown the prom king and queen, and, just as he predicted, Courfeyrac wins prom king, while some other girl who Éponine vaguely recalls was a lead in the winter musical is crowned prom queen. And right after is the first slow dance of the evening, God, because _obviously_.

While some choose to remain at their tables, for the most part, everyone around them pairs off to dance, boys and girls and those in between. Éponine looks up at Enjolras, finding his gaze, noticing how he swallows a bit. She holds out her hand for him to take and gives him a grin that instantly puts him at ease. “Well?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Are we dancing or what?”

He musters a smile and lets go of her hand to wrap his arms loose around her waist, hers going to dangle around his neck. They start swaying in time to the music, and everyone, everything else seems to fade into the background as they dance. He can hear her humming along to the music, so faint.

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
_ _Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go  
_ _So make the best of this test and don’t ask why  
_ _It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time_

“I’m glad we came together,” he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiles at him, dimples in her cheeks. “Me too.” After a pause her smile turns into a smirk as she adds, “Also, that’s what she said.”

He rolls his eyes, hoping she can’t see his cheeks burning. “Jesus Christ, Nina.”

_It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right  
_ _I hope you had the time of your life_

Enjolras gazes into her eyes as they sway to the music, focused on nothing but each other, blue eyes fixed on brown. He wonders how he never really noticed before how her eyes sparkle under the lights, bringing out a shine in the dark brown, how even the slightest curve of her lips carves dimples into her cheeks. He still remembers their first meeting way back in kindergarten like it was just yesterday. He gave her his juice box and broke his last cookie in half for them to share, and she so bluntly asked him to be her best friend mere moments after.

It’s strange, seeing her now—a good sort of strange, but still strange nonetheless. They’ve witnessed each other grow up, from carefree young children making ambitious plans to be president and vice president together to awkward tweens still in the midst of figuring out their sexuality to the teenagers they are now, about to go off to college, longing to leave their mark. He has no doubt that they’ll see each other into adulthood, and maybe even old age. He wonders where they’ll go from here. High school graduation in the very near future, then college, then law school, and then who knows what will happen from there on out?

He imagines them meeting other people, getting to know those other people, quite possibly marrying and starting a family with those other people, and his stomach tightens at the thought. He doesn’t know _why_. All he knows is that he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to live without seeing Éponine’s dimpled smile every day, without having her snarking in his ear about everything that goes on around them. He’s shared his life with her since they were five years old. He just can’t fathom the idea of them leading separate lives in the future. The thought of it honestly hurts.

Really, the deeper he digs into it, he _can’t_ see himself spending the rest of his life with someone who isn’t Éponine. No matter how hard he tries. Rationally, he knows there are some things even they can’t share, and they’re as close as close can be. He finds himself wishing that they _could_ , though. He wishes that they could share everything.

And his heart nearly stops as it finally dawns on him.

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, God.

It’s her. Of course it is. It’s always been her.

Without thinking, he starts to lean in, his movement just barely noticeable, and he thinks she actually leans in as well before he catches himself mere moments after he slipped. Is it just him, or does she look… _disappointed_? No, it’s probably just him. Him and what’s probably been years of repressed feelings.

He’s _in love_ with her. He’s in love with his best friend. He’s in love with Éponine.

Oh, _God_.

When the next song comes on, some throwback nineties tune, she leans in to rest her head against his collarbone and he forgets how to breathe for a moment or two. She lets out a shriek of laughter when he twirls her out during the chorus, pulling her back in and smiling down at her when she’s back in his arms, cheeks warm. His shoulders tense, and he knows she can sense it by how the look on her face changes ever so slightly. The slight change of expression would be unnoticeable if he hadn’t known her for so long, nearly their entire lives.

“What’s the matter?” she asks softly, her voice barely audible amidst the music. She reaches to take his hand. Their tattoos align.

He forces himself to relax, laughing under his breath and bowing his head. “It’s nothing. I’m just happy to be here.” _With you,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Éponine laughs and gives him a smile when he looks back into her eyes. Huh. How has he never noticed before how expressive they are? “I love you, Gabe.”

His heart may skip a beat or two. But she means it platonically, he reminds himself. They’ve been platonically saying it to each other for literally as long as they can remember. So he just tenderly murmurs in response, “I love you too, Nina.”

* * *

The prom queen stormed off sometime ago after Courfeyrac accidentally stepped on her toes one too many times during that first slow dance, so now he sits at the round table where he’s deposited his belongings with Combeferre, his plastic crown in his lap, still donning the sash, the two of them watching Éponine and Enjolras dancing and laughing together, focused on nothing but each other. He groans, slamming his forehead onto the table.

“Christ on a _bike_ , they’re painful to watch,” he comments, groaning loud and long before heaving out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “Like, just _bone_ already. _Jesus._ ”

“Give them time,” Combeferre says, surreptitiously taking a picture on his phone. They’re too caught up in each other to notice anyway.

“It’s been twelve goddamn years. I personally think we’ve given them _more_ than enough time. They have _matching tattoos_ , for Chrissake!” Courfeyrac looks up, resting his chin on the table. “D’you think they already forgot how they made me officiate their fake wedding back when we were seven?” he wonders aloud. “You were best man. _I_ remember.”

Combeferre chuckles under his breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and suggesting rather wryly, “Maybe you should get ordained online so you can officiate their real wedding in the future.”

Courfeyrac snorts. Little does Combeferre know that he already did that a couple of weeks ago on his eighteenth birthday. He even got himself registered with the court and everything. The problem now is getting the two stupid idiots to realise that they have fucking feelings for each other. So that’s probably not going to happen in the next several decades or so. God, sometimes he truly wonders how they can remain so _oblivious_ when it seems like everyone else and their mother knows. “Yeah. Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here is the nineties throwback in question, in case anybody is interested lol](https://youtu.be/ElkqPNvMj6w)
> 
> alright. though the following topic has nothing to do with this chapter of inthaf, it's fucking important and, when spreading information, i'm doing my best to reach as many people as i can. i'm not particularly eloquent when it comes to this sort of thing, at least not as eloquent as i'd like to be, but please bear with me. i sincerely hope you'll take my words to heart.
> 
> so unless you have been living under a rock, i'm sure you have knowledge of current affairs. we absolutely cannot continue to let police brutality slide; police _must_ be held accountable for the many, many, _many_ horrific, wrongful murders of black people that have been perpetuated by them for far too long. all lives can't matter until black lives matter. white people and non-black poc (like myself), it is better to show up imperfectly than to not show up at all, so i am begging you, please use your voice in whatever way you can to take action and speak out. be actively anti racist and call out racism when you see it, be it online, in public, or in your own home and social circles. educate yourself. listen to black voices and experiences. get out and protest. donate to fund and support initiatives which support black people. sign petitions. raise awareness. use your privilege for good.
> 
> [here](https://greekgods.tumblr.com/post/619659812311007232/ways-to-help-protestors-if-you-are-unable-to) is a masterpost detailing ways you can help protestors if you are unable to protest yourself and [here](https://linktr.ee/NationalResourcesList) is a link to a masterdoc of everything from nationwide charities you can donate to, free legal help in case you get arrested per state, mutual aid funds, tips for if you attend a protest, etc. [here](https://blacklivesmatter.carrd.co/) is a black lives matter carrd that details more ways you can help. _please_ , at the very least, share this information with others. to be silent is to be complicit.
> 
> (just think to yourself: what would enjolras do?)


	10. a farewell for now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They graduate high school. He goes all the way to the other end of the country to the West Coast, where he makes a new friend, while she remains in the east along with the others. They make the distance work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! it's my birthday today. figured i'd update this because i'm writing this for myself first and foremost. though i certainly do love knowing that people like it as well <3
> 
> (because i forgot to put it in the first chapter she appeared in: [azelma fc](https://howtobearedhead.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/redhead_ethnic_how_to_be_a_redhead.jpg), in case anybody is interested lol)

* * *

Graduation day arrives and it’s a day of tears and promises to never lose touch.

Combeferre gives the salutation at the beginning of the ceremony and Enjolras delivers the valedictory address at the end, and the principal then orders them to turn their tassels before congratulating them all and caps are thrown into the air, cheers ringing out through the football stadium, the graduating class a blur of red and black. Éponine flies out of her seat and immediately goes to seek out Enjolras once the ceremony is over, spotting him in the crowd up front and barrelling into his arms, throwing her arms around his neck. He stumbles backwards, just barely keeping himself from falling flat on his ass and hugging her back, burying his face in her shoulder, feeling her heavy breaths.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time she draws back, looking up at him through shining brown eyes, beaming and wiping away tears. “We did it, Gabe,” she whispers amid all the shouting. “We graduated! God, I can’t believe high school’s over.”

He beams right back at her, blinking back tears of his own. “I know. I can’t believe it either.”

He pulls her back into a tight embrace and she’s crying freely now, half-laughing, half-crying, hiccuping slightly as her tears soak into his red graduation gown. He starts crying along with her, the maelstrom of emotions that stem from the fact that their time in high school is officially over finally getting to them, and they’re both crying in earnest by the time his parents, her siblings, and the others catch up to them. They must look ridiculous, she thinks to herself in amusement, blubbering and crying and holding onto each other like they’re terrified the other might disappear if they let go. But neither of them can find it in themselves to care.

“Oh!” Lucie approaches them and they finally break apart, tears streaking their cheeks, and she wraps Enjolras up in a hug, her bony arms going to wrap around his neck. “Congratulations, honey!” She’s taken to wearing a wig now, having shaved off her hair due to the chemo. It’s just a tad bit askew. Éponine wonders if she should point it out or not.

Enjolras hugs his mother back, sniffling and mustering a smile through his tears. Éponine finds herself smiling at the sight, laughing a little through her own tears when her siblings approach her.

“Hey!” She whirls around to face Azelma and Gavroche and laughs out loud when they practically tackle her in a hug, laughing and crying along with her. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

Azelma grimaces as she draws back. “Last I checked, they got into a fight with Principal Javert. Over what, I don’t know.”

Gavroche grins impishly up at her. “Maybe it’s your grades.”

She swats at his arm, huffing. “My grades are perfectly fine, thank you very much! Besides, if they really cared that much, which they don’t, they’d take it up with my teachers, not the principal of the entire damn school. Anyway,” she turns back to Éponine, “they were being kinda rowdy up in the bleachers. Dad’s drunk, and Mom’s hungover. That’s probably why.” Azelma lets out a teary laugh and pulls her older sister into another bone-crushing hug, exclaiming, “Oh, my God, you’re going to _college_!”

Éponine rolls her eyes with a modest smile and playfully shoves her. “It’s not _that_ big a deal. I’m still going to be living at home.” Absently, her hand goes to toy with her locket as she notices their parents in the far distance, still engaged in a heated shouting match with the principal, and wrinkles her nose. “I mean, _someone’s_ got to make sure you two are alright.”

Azelma puffs up her chest haughtily. “Excuse you, I am _sixteen_ , I’m plenty old enough to take care of myself.”

Éponine raises her eyebrows at her. “You know the only reason they’re not as hard on you two as they are on me is because I’m around to make sure they aren’t, right?” She reaches out to ruffle her sister’s curly red hair, laughing at the way she pouts. “Cheer up! You’ll be graduating in two years anyway, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

The look on Gavroche’s face goes sour, his lips forming a pout, and he glumly says, “ _I’m_ not going to graduate for another seven years.”

Éponine pats his head, messing up his already messy blond hair. “Well, I’ll make sure Mom and Dad don’t do anything to you. I’ll set up a surveillance camera in the apartment if I have to.”

Azelma lets out an explosive snort at that, nearly doubling over in laughter, before moments later, she quiets down all of a sudden, looking at a point past Éponine’s shoulder. She turns around to see Enjolras standing there, patiently waiting for her to be done. She tears up and grins and tackles him in a hug, holding him tight and refusing to let go.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder as his arms wrap tighter around her waist. Her tears set him off again as well, and he starts crying too, kissing her forehead and crying at the thought of having to be away from her.

“We still have the whole summer,” he reminds her softly once she pulls back, furiously wiping at her eyes. “And we’ll Skype every weekend. Every day, if you want me to.”

Éponine sniffles and laughs, smiling tearfully up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a three-hour time difference. Just promise me we’ll never lose touch.”

Enjolras nods. He’s never been more certain of anything else in his life. “Never. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He hugs her tight again, feeling her melt into his arms, and his heart leaps. “It’s going to take a lot more than three thousand miles to get between us,” he whispers in her ear, and she giggles a little at that.

The sound of Courfeyrac loudly and exaggeratedly clearing his throat breaks them out of their trance, and they pull away from each other to see the others standing there, clearly waiting for them to be done with their overly sentimental farewell—overly sentimental considering how they still have an entire summer to spend time with each other—so they can take pictures. Grantaire wiggles his eyebrows and smirks.

“God, you two are such drama queens,” he drawls. “We still have a whole-ass summer, you know. Are you done?” When Éponine sticks her tongue out at him and Enjolras sheepishly nods yes, he then says, “C’mon, then, let’s take photos!”

All of it is a whirl, the taking of photos and the after-party, the final goodbyes and the promises to meet up later that summer before they all temporarily go their separate ways. For the most part, they’re staying on the East Coast; Enjolras is the exception, having been accepted to Stanford. It took quite a bit of convincing on Lucie and Éponine’s parts to persuade him to go, though, what with his reluctance to leave them, the former because of her illness and the latter simply because she’s his best friend. Besides, he’d gotten accepted to every school he applied to, and he’d applied to a couple in New York. But then Éponine threatened to never speak to him again if he passes up on this opportunity, so honestly, who was he to say no?

Éponine’s blinding smile, dimples on full display, is ever-present all throughout the celebrations. Her laughter still echoes in his mind long after the festivities have ended.

* * *

In what feels like the blink of an eye, summer is over.

They get into their fair share of dumb shit over the course of the vacation—namely, getting arrested at a peaceful protest gone awry after getting into an altercation with a particularly cantankerous cop, needing his dad and Combeferre to come bail them out, and proceeding to get lectured by Matthieu for what felt like two damn hours afterwards—but before they know it, they’re at JFK, seeing him off to California, no small amount of tears shed between the two of them. At one point, Enjolras actually has to coax Éponine into letting go of him after several minutes of her refusing to do so, clinging to him and silently crying into his shoulder, long after he’s hugged all their other friends goodbye. He finally persuades her to pull back, and she stands there, tears streaking her cheeks as she gazes into his eyes.

His hand goes to cup her cheek and he wipes away her tears with his thumb. He thinks he might imagine her almost leaning into his touch as she reaches up to place her hand on his wrist, softly rubbing the mark on his forearm.

“Don’t go,” she says, making those sad eyes. It’s all he can do not to give in.

“I have to go, Nina,” he murmurs, and then he laughs a little. “Besides, you’re the one who told me to go in the first place.”

“Well, I changed my mind,” she informs him, almost petulant. “Stay.”

He just smiles apologetically at her and wordlessly pulls her in for another hug, his heart breaking at how she shakes against him, doing her best to get her tears under control. When she finally draws back, he goes to hug his parents, asking Lucie a little anxiously, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” she tells him lightly, reaching up to ruffle his hair with a bit of a smile on her face. “I promise I won’t die while you’re in California.”

Enjolras frowns, wincing. “Mom, please don’t joke about that.”

Lucie just laughs quietly and pulls him into a hug, which he readily returns. She reaches up to pat the back of his head, murmuring, “I love you, sweet pea.”

He manages a tiny smile. “I love you too, Mom.”

He then turns to Matthieu and has just opened his mouth to speak when he says reassuringly, “I promise I’ll look after her. We’ll both be fine.” He gives his son an encouraging smile. “Go have fun at college.”

He really should be going through the gate by now, but he hesitates, just standing there gazing at his parents, at his friends. And Éponine. He can’t remember a time when she wasn’t a constant physical presence in his life; he doesn’t know how he’s going to manage the long distance now.

She watches his face, almost as if she’s reading his mind, and honestly, she probably is—they’ve known each other long enough to do so. Silently, she steps towards him and embraces him yet again, and he doesn’t even think twice, hugging her back, burying his face in her shoulder as she stands on tiptoe to properly hug him and allowing a few tears to escape.

When she pulls back, he notices just how close their faces are—he could just lean in another couple of inches and close the gap between them right then and there. His breath hitches as he meets her wide eyes, her breathing having become rather shallow for some reason. Her eyebrows furrow ever so slightly and he decides against it, kissing her forehead instead. “I’ll call you when I land,” he tells her softly. “I promise.”

Éponine takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, gradually letting go as Enjolras finally walks towards the gate, dragging his little carry-on suitcase behind him. She watches as he steals one last look over at them, shooting the tiniest of smiles her way, before he passes through security and disappears from sight. Try as she might, she can’t stop the tears from coming, beginning to cry again, bowing her head and hugging herself as she lets the tears fall. Grantaire steps forward and puts his arms around her in a hug; she leans into him, her chest heaving as she cries.

“I miss him already,” she mumbles, rolling her locket between her thumb and her index finger.

Grantaire strokes her hair, hugging her tight. “I know.”

That night, she stays up late waiting for his phone call, and as he promised, he calls her when he lands. It’s eleven o’clock her time, so it must be around eight over there, and he stays on the phone with her until she falls asleep and she wakes up to find her phone dead. She rolls over to the edge of her bed to grab her phone charger and plug it in, smiling at the picture of her and Enjolras at graduation that makes up her lock-screen. She wonders what he’s up to right now.

* * *

Enjolras moves into his dorm room the morning after he arrived in California, having spent the night in a hotel. It’s early in the day to move into a dorm, almost unreasonably so, or at least that’s what Éponine would say if she knew about him choosing to move into his dorm at eight in the morning. He chuckles to himself at the thought. She’s never been much of a morning person.

To his surprise, his roommate is already there, in the final stages of unpacking his things, which Enjolras notices are rather sparse. He turns around at the sound of the door opening, smiling warmly when Enjolras enters and stopping what he’s doing to go and properly greet him.

“Hi! Looks like you’re going to be my roommate.” He sticks out his hand for Enjolras to shake. “I’m Marc, Marc Feuilly. Gabriel, right?”

“Yes, Gabriel Enjolras.” He shakes Feuilly’s hand and looks him up and down, noting his curly brown hair, cut short like Enjolras’ had been up until the start of junior year, and dark eyes. “What’s your major?”

“Art history,” Feuilly cheerfully replies as he returns to pasting the last of his posters on the wall. “I’ve wanted to become a curator at an art museum for as long as I can remember, though I’ve considered photography on a few occasions. I still like to dabble in photography occasionally. You?”

Enjolras cracks a smile. “Political science. I’m planning on attending law school.” He goes to unpack his suitcases before he moves on to his boxes, which have been shipped and delivered to the dorm prior to his arrival. “Where are you from, Marc?” he asks as he puts up his cork board on the wall adjacent to his bed, pinning on the little demi and pan flags that he’d gotten the last time he went to pride.

Feuilly laughs. “New Jersey. Got here on a scholarship, actually. I probably would have had to stay at home if I hadn’t. My parents would have never been able to afford it, and I’d probably die before I’d be able to finish paying off student loans.” He sits on his fully-made bed and crosses his legs. “What about you?”

“New York,” Enjolras says. “My family lived in New Orleans until I was about four years old, though.”

“Cool.” Feuilly watches him as Enjolras takes out some books to arrange on his desk, and he catches a glimpse of the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What?” Enjolras looks down to see what Feuilly is pointing at. His cheeks heat up when he realises it’s his tattoo. “Oh. Just something I got a few months back.”

“Ah. It looks nice!” Feuilly seems satisfied with Enjolras’ answer and contents himself by reading a book to let him unpack his things in peace. It takes a while for him to do so, and when he notices Enjolras just about finishing up with unpacking, Feuilly puts away his book to watch him putting up pictures, setting a few framed photographs on his desk while pinning up the rest on his cork board along with his mini pride flags and other knick-knacks such as old ticket stubs and little notes and whatnot.

Feuilly notices how one girl shows up repeatedly in many, almost all of those pictures, a brown-eyed brunette with olive skin and a bright smile that carves dimples into her cheeks. He gets to his feet and observes how Enjolras gazes wistfully at one photograph in particular, a candid of him and the girl dancing together at what appears to be prom, wearing colour-coordinating outfits and laughing. “Is that your girlfriend?” Feuilly asks, startling Enjolras out of his thoughts.

Enjolras turns a fiery scarlet, his entire face burning, stumbling over his words slightly as he says, “What? No, she—I’m—no, she’s just—she’s not— _we’re_ not—she’s my best friend.” He takes a deep breath, composing himself. His flustered stammering clearly isn’t helping his case. “We’ve been best friends since we were five. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Feuilly doesn’t sound entirely convinced, and Enjolras mentally berates himself for getting so worked up over a harmless little assumption. Feuilly then casually asks, “What’s her name?”

Enjolras doesn’t even realise how he’s smiling as his gaze trails to a Polaroid Courfeyrac took of him and Éponine on the Staten Island Ferry, their arms around each other, a big grin on her face and a more reserved smile on his, her head resting against his shoulder. “Éponine. But I call her Nina most of the time. She’s the best.” He takes off his shoes and places them by the foot of his bed before sitting down on the duvet, taking his phone out and murmuring a little absently, “I should really call her.”

Feuilly hides a smile. He only just met the guy three hours ago and he can already see how he’s clearly got it bad for this Éponine whom he speaks so fondly of. “Go ahead! I promise I won’t bother you while you do.”

Enjolras sends a grateful smile his way. “Thank you.”

He hopes Éponine’s not too preoccupied as he finds her number listed under his favourites—right at the very top—and calls her, leaning back against the pillows and holding the phone up to his ear. She picks up on the second ring.

 _“Gabriel, hi!”_ He can hear the smile in her voice as she greets him, and he bites back a smile of his own, cheeks warming up. _“What’s up? Have you moved into your dorm yet? What’s your roommate like? Is he nice? How are you adjusting? Settling in alright? Are you—”_

“Nina, slow down,” he tells her with a soft laugh. “Breathe. I’m doing just fine, don’t worry; I moved into my dorm this morning, I actually just finished unpacking all of my things. My roommate’s really nice, I think you’ll really like him…”


	11. a twinge of jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine gets into her first serious relationship. Enjolras isn’t quite sure of how to feel about it.

* * *

It takes some time for them to adjust to the changes that come with college, most of all the distance between them now, but they like to think they’re handling it alright.

True to his word, Enjolras Skypes Éponine every weekend, setting aside time on Saturdays for them to call. They cheer each other on in all their academic achievements (and in his case, practically shoving fliers about causes he’s extremely passionate about down people’s throats on the quad on a weekly basis) from opposite ends of the country and she annoys him about not overworking himself and getting enough rest, just like how she’s always done when they were still living in the same city. He frequently flies back to New York to see her in person as well as check in on his parents, make sure his mom is alright, and Éponine introduces him to her (and Grantaire’s) new friend Joseph Bahorel, whom she met in one of her classes. Apparently, he’s planning on going into law as well. He’s a good guy, if a little on the rough side and not exactly the sharpest tool in the box—a native of Texas relocated to New York and a bit of a spendthrift, tall and broad-shouldered, with floppy ginger hair and a hearty laugh, as well as, somewhat inexplicably, impeccable taste in fashion.

(Apparently he, Éponine, and Grantaire are planning on staging an intervention with Jehan when he comes back to NYC from Sarah Lawrence for the summer. Enjolras wishes them luck in their endeavours.)

The summer after freshman year, Enjolras invites Feuilly to spend half of the break with him in New York, the two of them having grown close over the course of the past year and planning on rooming together again next year. Jersey City is practically next door to Manhattan. He can’t wait to introduce Feuilly to the rest of his friends; he has a good feeling that he’ll be part of the group in no time.

Everyone who goes out of state for college returns to New York that summer to reunite with those who never left, eager to catch each other up on what’s been going on in their lives. It’s refreshing, getting the gang back together for the summer, along with a couple of new additions. As expected, Feuilly hits it off with the others immediately, seamlessly integrating into the group. When Enjolras introduces him to his other friends, by the end of the day, he’s already been added into the group chat.

By summer’s end, Enjolras promises to send Éponine plane tickets to California sometime so she can visit him there for once instead of having him fly back to New York as he so often does, and after a reluctant goodbye, he and Feuilly depart on the plane that’s to take them to the San Francisco International Airport. As he always does, he calls Éponine mere moments after he gets off the plane. It’s become second nature for them now.

One day, roughly a month into the first semester of sophomore year of college, Enjolras sits down at his desk for his weekly Skype call with Éponine, at the time they mutually agreed on during their last call. She’s quick to answer, and he laughs at the latest in a series of knotted headbands Bahorel has bought for her. Sometime ago during the summer, she declared her intent to finally grow out the bangs she’s had for nearly four years now. The headbands keep her hair out of her face and keep _her_ from going insane at that awkward mid-length stage.

“How is that going?” Enjolras asks in lieu of a proper greeting, gesturing to his forehead area and attempting to stifle a teasing smile as Éponine sticks her tongue out at him and blows a raspberry his way.

 _“Pretty fucking terribly, thanks for asking,”_ she responds, wrinkling her nose. _“Jehan came back to the city last weekend and taught me to make braid crowns with my bangs, though. So that’s nice.”_

Enjolras smiles fondly, laughing under his breath. “My Nina in a braid crown. Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

Éponine rolls her eyes and pretends to swat at the camera, but she’s smiling. _“Oh, shut up. I know I’m dreamy, but keep it in your pants, chief.”_

He nearly chokes on his own spit at her throwaway comment, hoping to whatever higher power that may be out there that the mediocre webcam of his MacBook doesn’t pick up on how he turns an uncomfortably revealing shade of red. She can’t have possibly picked up on how he’s gone and developed romantic feelings for her, has she? No, he decides, she would have said something about it by now if she has.

He clears his throat, swiftly changing the subject. “Anyway,” he says, keeping his tone light, “what’s new with you?”

 _“Oh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually!”_ She beams, and he tries to keep himself from smiling back too adoringly at the sight of that big dimpled smile that he loves so much. _“You’ll never guess what happened.”_

Enjolras cocks his head to the side, smiling with a raise of his eyebrows as he plays along. “What happened?”

Éponine laughs, looking strangely coy all of a sudden. She bites her lip as she fiddles absent-mindedly with her locket, saying, _“So, uh, I…”_ She places a hand over her mouth and giggles a little. _“I got a boyfriend.”_

Enjolras’ smile falters and rather quickly falls from his face, but Éponine is too caught up in her own thoughts to really notice, seeming to stare off into space and giggling to herself. He falls back in his seat, the way he slumps down just barely perceivable. “Oh. That’s—” He inhales and exhales deeply, once, twice, straightening up a little more and collecting himself, injecting a little more enthusiasm into his tone. For her sake. “That’s nice!” He forces a smile, asking, “What’s his name?”

 _“Montparnasse,”_ Éponine replies. _“He’s a little older than us, and he works for my dad. I was thinking you two could meet each other soon, during Thanksgiving break! What do you think?”_

Enjolras blinks at a rate that’s probably much faster than normal, still vaguely in shock. “I—well—” He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat and musters a feeble smile. “Why not?”

Éponine beams, and it almost makes him forget about the confusing array of feelings he’s feeling right now. Almost. _“Alright, cool! Okay, so what’s new with you?”_

Their call lasts another half-hour or so—highlights include Éponine mentioning how Cosette has chopped off her hair to make it shoulder-length and dyed it entirely baby pink while Musichetta cut hers into a chin-length bob with thick bangs that surprisingly really works on her—but Enjolras can barely comprehend the rest of it, still hearing a ringing in his ears by the time the screen goes black at the end of the call, that single damned sentence echoing in the back of his mind, over and over again. _I got a boyfriend._ He feels sick to the stomach at the thought of it. The fact that he feels sick to the stomach at the thought of it makes him feel even worse, guilty at the way he’s feeling when he should, rationally, be happy for her. She _is_ his best friend, after all. She deserves nothing but his support and unadulterated happiness for her. And yet he can’t seem to give that to her.

He needs to lie down.

When Feuilly returns later that night from dinner, he finds Enjolras curled up on his bed, a half-eaten frosted strawberry Pop-Tart abandoned beside him. He looks a little spaced out, just staring blankly at the plain dark red of his duvet cover, his earbuds in. “Everything alright?” Feuilly asks in concern. When Enjolras doesn’t answer, he sits down at the edge of his bed and pats his thigh, resisting the urge to tug out his earbuds himself. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”

Enjolras finally looks up, and alarm crosses Feuilly’s face for a split second at how his eyes look red-rimmed, as if he’s been crying. He pulls out his earbuds, his voice a little hoarse as he says, “So Éponine’s got a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” That’s all Feuilly can say, a little caught off-guard by this new information. After an uncomfortably long silence, he states quietly, matter-of-factly, “You’re jealous.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Enjolras instantly denies, sitting up and hugging a pillow to his chest. “It’s just that… she’s my best friend, and I should be happy for her, right? I should be nothing but supportive. For Christ’s sake, she’s my _best friend_. But I just can’t seem to be happy for her for some reason, and I don’t know _why_ , and it’s killing me.” The guilt is eating him up. He can’t stand it.

Feuilly scoots a little closer and tentatively reaches out to place a steadying hand on Enjolras’ knee. “Because you’re jealous.”

When Enjolras opens his mouth to deny it again, Feuilly quickly beats him to it. “Gabriel, it’s okay. I know how you feel about her.” Enjolras looks up, blue eyes wide in slight alarm, lips pressed tightly together. The look on his face is almost comical, Feuilly thinks as he goes on, “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You blush around her a lot. And, no offence, you’ve been kind of obvious about it from day one.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows draw together as he purses his lips. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s been pretty clear to me ever since you denied it when I asked you if she was your girlfriend when you put up those pictures,” Feuilly responds rather dryly, gesturing to the photographs on Enjolras’ cork board. “You know, a simple yes or no would’ve sufficed. But instead, I almost tripped over your tongue dragging halfway across the ground.”

Enjolras’ face burns red. “Come on. I can’t have possibly been _that_ obvious.”

“You were,” Feuilly contradicts, a little smile on his lips. “I’ve noticed how your tattoo matches hers. You two got them together, didn’t you? And your whole face lights up whenever you talk about her. It’s cute.”

Enjolras sighs and stares at the wall, perched on the edge of his bed. Distractedly, he rubs his thumb over the sun on the inside of his wrist. “I just… I know that I should be happy for her. And I feel guilty that I don’t. If you really love someone, you should let them go, right? But for some reason I can’t do that.”

Feuilly places his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Is there anything that would make you feel better about that?”

Enjolras shrugs. “She wants me to meet him. This Thanksgiving break.” He looks up to meet Feuilly’s eyes. “Not sure how that will go. But I should, right?”

“If she wants you to, then go for it,” Feuilly tells him. “Unless it would take a toll on your mental health. It wouldn’t, right?” He picks up Enjolras’ phone, seeing on his lock-screen that he’s hit pause on “You Belong with Me”. Try as he might, he can’t help but snort. “Really?”

“I was going through a moment,” Enjolras mutters, a little defensive, cheeks turning pink.

“Well, anyway, meeting him can’t possibly be that awful, right?” Feuilly asks again, returning to the subject at hand as he takes Enjolras’ hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Give him a chance and all that.”

Enjolras considers it for a few moments before he shakes his head. “No. I’m pretty sure it won’t be.” He’ll do it for her, if not for himself.

So that’s how he finds himself searching the crowds at the airport terminal for Éponine after he lands in New York, his parents having been unable to come pick him up due to another of Lucie’s doctor’s appointments, and there’s a guy he’s never seen before standing beside Éponine, with a black leather jacket and over-gelled hair. Is that her boyfriend?

Before he can dwell on it for too long, Éponine calls out his name and sprints up to him the moment she spots him, throwing her arms around his neck and laughing. Enjolras stumbles, momentarily caught off-guard, before he regains his balance and returns her embrace, leaning down a little so he can properly hug her, burying his face in her shoulder and hiding a wide smile. He’s brought back down to reality when he hears someone sharply clearing their throat, and Éponine immediately breaks the hug, looking behind her, still smiling.

“Oh!” She glances back at Enjolras. “Gabe, meet Montparnasse. ’Parnasse, this is Gabriel. He’s my best friend.”

Enjolras notices how Montparnasse bristles a little bit, and he takes the opportunity to size him up. He’s rather good-looking, better described as pretty rather than handsome, with pointed features, dressed in all black—black biker boots and black jacket, both faux leather, black T-shirt, black ripped jeans. Even his hair, slicked back with an abundance of hair gel, is jet-black. It’s a sharp contrast to his almost eerily pale skin and pale green eyes. He’s lanky as well, though a couple of inches shorter than Enjolras.

Montparnasse gives him a tight smile, stiffly holding out his hand for Enjolras to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a tone that clearly communicates the opposite.

Enjolras manages to keep the look on his face impassive as he shakes Montparnasse’s hand. “Likewise.”

* * *

The next week is downright agony.

Enjolras spends most of his time at home with his parents or hanging out with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, feeling far too much like a third wheel whenever he goes out with Éponine, who often brings Montparnasse along. It doesn’t help that Montparnasse is nothing but cold to him the entire time, for reasons Enjolras still can’t comprehend. Éponine doesn’t even seem to notice how Montparnasse keeps giving Enjolras the cold shoulder.

If it’s even possible, he’s even more torn now than he was before about Éponine having a serious boyfriend, now that he’s actually met said boyfriend. Montparnasse seems like an absolute dick. Maybe he doesn’t act that way around Éponine, which makes it all the more troubling, considering how easily he slips into total asshole mode around Enjolras when Éponine isn’t looking. Enjolras doesn’t want her being taken advantage of.

The day before Enjolras is due to fly back to California, Montparnasse somehow locates him as he’s walking out of the Café Musain, the coffee shop he and his friends have frequented since their high school days. Honestly, that’s on him. He’s spent a _lot_ of time here in the past week.

Enjolras stops in his tracks when Montparnasse blocks his path. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his maroon peacoat, asking rather coldly, “Can I help you?”

In lieu of an answer, Montparnasse just heads into the alleyway by the coffee shop, clearly expecting Enjolras to follow him. He has no choice but to do so, standing there across from Montparnasse, who’s by the dumpster and holding a lighter under the cigarette he’s gotten out, and raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Well? Is there anything you’d like to say? Because if not, I really should get going.”

“I don’t like you, Enjolras,” Montparnasse informs him brusquely after he takes a long drag of his cigarette. It catches him off-guard, the last-name basis. People who don’t know him personally tend to address him by his surname, but for some reason, right now, when it’s Montparnasse, it’s rather unsettling. Although he isn’t sure whether he’d prefer for Montparnasse to call him Gabriel instead. If anything, that might throw him off even more.

“Yes, I thought as much,” Enjolras replies, keeping a level head. “Is there any particular reason why?”

“Oh, come off it, rich boy, stop pretending like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” Montparnasse sneers at him, green eyes narrowing. “I’m thinking of taking her to get her tattoo removed. Just _imagine_ how _surprised_ I was to find out it matches yours.”

Enjolras is about to open his mouth to point out how he and Éponine got their tattoos long before she even met Montparnasse, but with the way he’s currently glaring at him, there might not be a point in trying to make him see reason. So he keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what else he has to say.

“And there’s that locket she’s always wearing,” Montparnasse goes on, snorting mirthlessly. “I’m gonna take a wild guess here and guess it was from you, because she won’t let me see what’s inside.”

“Well, that’s her decision to make,” Enjolras tells him. His tight smile comes out as more of a grimace.

“Let me just cut to the chase.” Montparnasse takes a long drag of his cigarette, not taking his eyes off of Enjolras’ the entire time. As he exhales, smoke curling from his mouth, he scowls and says, “You have the nerve to flirt with _my_ girlfriend in front of me. And I’ll just let you know right now that I’m having none of that bullshit.”

“I haven’t been flirting with Ni—with Éponine,” Enjolras responds coolly. “She and I have always been like that. We’ve been best friends since we were _five_. Are you really that insecure?”

“Just back the fuck off from my girlfriend, Blondie,” Montparnasse snaps. “She’s not your concern anymore.”

“Éponine will always be my concern,” Enjolras retorts, blue eyes turning icy. “She’s my best friend. We’ll always care for each other. Nothing you say or do will change that.”

“She’s mine,” Montparnasse says, his voice dangerously low. “And I don’t plan on letting her go.”

“Éponine is not something to be owned,” Enjolras mutters, balling his hands into fists at his side.

Montparnasse’s thin lips curl into a vile smirk. “Says the guy who doesn’t have her.” When Enjolras doesn’t say anything in response, Montparnasse continues, “I’ve seen the way you look at her, it’s fucking pathetic. You’re obsessed with her. It’s _sad_.” He smirks even more, smug. “You ever wonder what she looks like naked? Well, I can tell you—”

Unable to take it anymore, Enjolras shoves past Montparnasse and falls into a brisk walk, heart pounding as he descends onto the subway platform and stands there in wait for the 4 train. He hates what he’s seeing, hates the way Montparnasse is referring to Éponine, hates the control over her that he seems to think he has. And he knows Éponine definitely hasn’t seen this side of Montparnasse yet, because there’s no way she would put up with it. He’s worried for her.

The next day, Éponine sees him off at the airport, his parents once again unable to come. Although that’s mostly because he convinced them to stay home, with how Lucie needs to rest more often. It took a while to convince them. As usual, Lucie promised she won’t die while he’s in California, and as usual, Enjolras’ heart nearly stopped and he chastised his mother about how she shouldn’t make jokes like that.

“Hey, what’s up?” The sound of Éponine’s voice brings Enjolras back to earth, and he looks at her. “You look a little out of it. Is everything okay?”

She cocks her head to the side, frowning a little. “Is this about Montparnasse? It’s just that—things seem kind of tense between you two. And he mentioned that he saw you yesterday. What did you two talk about?”

“That he doesn’t like me,” Enjolras replies at last, “although the feeling is mutual.”

Éponine sighs, absently toying with the collar of his denim jacket. “I’m sorry.” After a pause, she asks, “Why don’t you like him?”

Enjolras bites his lip, his breath leaving him in a rush, unsure of how to phrase it. He doesn’t want to worry her. “I think he thinks he’s the key to your happiness,” he says finally. “That as your boyfriend, he should be your top priority.”

“He’s not, though,” Éponine automatically refutes. “Between you and me? If I had to rank people’s importance in my life, he wouldn’t make the top five. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even make the top ten.” She reaches up to place her hand on his arm. “He’s not going to replace you, Gabriel. Nobody’s ever going to.”

“That’s good to hear,” Enjolras murmurs, his voice a little husky at her honesty. It soothes the burn from Montparnasse’s words yesterday. He isn’t really thinking when he reaches to straighten out the heart-shaped enamel pin in the colours of the bisexual flag pinned onto the lapel of her thrifted leather jacket. Genuine leather, unlike Montparnasse’s synthetic atrocity, he can’t help but snidely think. Before she can say something else, he assures her, “I’m not angry with you. I promise.”

Éponine laughs a little. “How did you know I was going to ask about that?”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth turns up in a tiny half-smile. “I know you better than I know myself.” He pauses, then requests, “Nina, can you promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t hide anything about your relationship with him, please. Tell everything, if not to me, to Cosette, R, or Julien, or your siblings, or whomever you feel close enough to tell it to. Just keep people in the know, alright?”

Éponine frowns up at him, concern clouding her dark eyes. “Gabriel, is there something you’re not telling me? Should I not be in a relationship with Montparnasse or something?”

“I would never tell you what to do,” Enjolras tells her honestly, “but I will say that I don’t trust him, okay? I _really_ don’t trust him. And maybe I’m reading too much into this or seeing things that aren’t there, but please just humour me on this.”

After a fleeting moment, Éponine nods. “I will.”

Enjolras relaxes a little, relieved that she so easily accepted his request. He presses his lips to her forehead in a grateful kiss. “Thank you, Nina.”

Éponine stands on tiptoe and slides her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and hugging him tight. Enjolras closes his eyes, hugging her back and sighing deeply. When she pulls back, she reaches up to brush some of his hair out of his face. “I love you, Gabe.”

He smiles at her, tenderly, affectionately. Longingly. “I love you, too.”


	12. an intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse, to put it simply, turns out to be a spectacular asshole. It takes Éponine some time to work up the nerve to dump him. When she finally does, Enjolras comes along for moral support, and in the process, someone gets punched in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for references to physical/verbal abuse and gaslighting.

* * *

Éponine doesn’t know what to do when, three months into their relationship, Montparnasse starts hitting her.

She’s done her best to try and keep her promise to Enjolras—she owes him that much—but she can’t bring herself to tell people that Montparnasse has developed a tendency towards physical violence and excessive verbal abuse. Especially with how a lot of people have expressed their distrust of him, yet she stays with him anyway. She doesn’t want them telling her they told her so, and how she has no one to blame but herself.

It’s not even that bad most of the time, though, she rationalises; he’s just been stressed out lately and he needs an outlet for that stress, and he’s close to her father, so perhaps he looks to him as an example. And he’s always remorseful after it happens, which must count for _something_ , right? She hides her bruises and scars under carefully applied makeup, plastering on a smile in public and refusing to let it get her down. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s _fine_. That’s what she keeps telling herself. This is only temporary. It’ll pass.

But it doesn’t.

She swears Azelma and Gavroche to secrecy, despite their protests. They’ve never really liked Montparnasse, never really liking anyone who willingly associates with their father, but they put up with him for Éponine’s sake. With her friends, she just flat-out denies it whenever they voice their concerns, ask her if Montparnasse is treating her badly. It’s not his fault. It’s _not_. He’s just going through a rough time.

She hates keeping secrets from Enjolras. It just isn’t in their nature to keep secrets from each other. But she doesn’t know how to tell him.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have to.

* * *

It’s spring break, several months after Éponine first introduced Enjolras to Montparnasse, when he finds out, the two of them out on her fire escape and watching the streets below. Éponine pulls at her Gryffindor scarf a bit, irritated by how it presses against her skin, and Enjolras’ sharp eyes zero in on the faint bruises on her neck.

“Nina, what is that?” he asks, his voice sharp. Éponine immediately draws the scarf around her neck again.

“Just hickeys,” she mumbles, cheeks flushed red. “It’s nothing.”

“Éponine, I _am_ aware of what hickeys look like, you know,” Enjolras says, but there’s nothing humorous about his tone. “And those definitely aren’t hickeys. What is it?”

He tries to make eye contact, but Éponine keeps averting her gaze, seeming to shrink into herself, guilt written all over her face. His heart sinks when he realises what’s been going on. Shoulders shaking, his hands clench into fists, and he makes to stand up. “I’ll kill him.”

“No!” Éponine grabs his arm, finally looking him in the eyes, and hers are glassy with tears. Enjolras sits back down, alarmed. “No, please, _don’t_. It’s not that bad most of the time! He’s not that bad, he can be nice sometimes! He’s nice to me most of the time. It really isn’t that bad, Gabriel, _please_.”

He stares at her in disbelief. “Nina, he’s _hitting_ you,” he points out. He thinks he might actually sense some bile rising up in his throat at the mental image of Montparnasse with his hand clenched around Éponine’s throat. “How recent was this?” When she doesn’t say anything, he shakes his head, sick to the stomach. “Éponine, you have to—you _need_ to go to someone about this. Even if it’s ‘not that bad’, he’s still _abusing_ you.” He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes darkening in quiet fury. “He’ll pay for it.”

“ _No!_ Gabriel, please, _please_ , don’t do anything you might end up regretting,” she begs, grabbing his hands, trying to make him see sense. This is exactly what she feared. She’s seen how often people mistake Enjolras’ kindness for weakness, assuming that he’s perfectly harmless because of it. They couldn’t be more wrong. He only has so much patience, and he’s got one hell of a hot temper. When he’s angry, really, truly angry, he’s _terrifying_.

Enjolras takes several deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm himself down, trying to keep himself from seeing red. Composing himself. Keeping a level head. For Éponine’s sake. After a while, he asks her, softer this time, “Why didn’t you tell me? You can tell me anything, Éponine, absolutely anything. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Éponine says, and the tears start to fall, streaming down her cheeks in rivulets. “I _know_. And I know I promised I wouldn’t hide anything about my relationship with him, but I did. I’m sorry.”

“Nina, you don’t have to apologise for anything,” Enjolras says, gentle but firm. “But can you tell me about it now? Why haven’t you told anyone?”

Éponine shrugs, biting her lip. “My parents don’t give a fuck. Dad’s a lot like him, actually. And he hangs around Dad a lot, so I guess he looks to him as an example. As if he isn’t a grown-ass twenty-two-year-old man,” she mutters darkly, mostly to herself. “Other people already didn’t trust him from the beginning. Joseph and R and my siblings, mostly. I don’t want them telling me they told me so. It’s my fault.”

“Éponine, it is _not_ your fault,” Enjolras says fiercely. “None of this is your fault. And none of them will think that if you tell them. Montparnasse is the one to blame.” He bites his lip. “Why haven’t you ended things with him yet?” The moment the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. He knows damn well that abusive relationships are notoriously difficult to get out of.

“He breaks down every time I bring it up,” Éponine mumbles, her tears beginning to dwindle. “Starts crying and going on and on and on about how I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’d kill himself if I left. I don’t want to be responsible for him killing himself, Gabriel. Even if—even if he really is all bark and no bite, I can’t risk it.” She inhales sharply, going on, “And he always breaks down after he hits me, or after he yells at me, after he does _something_ , just crying and apologising, and—and I would have to comfort him and tell him it’s _okay_ , and—” A fresh wave of tears hits and she begins to cry again, unable to get the words out.

Enjolras pulls her into his arms, holding her and stroking her hair as she cries. Éponine sinks into his embrace, holding onto him like a lifeline. She hasn’t felt safe in a long time, not really. But right now, as he’s holding her tight in his arms, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt more secure.

She chokes on her sobs, murmuring rather deliriously, “It’s fine, he’s just going through a rough time, it’s okay, I’m okay, it’s all okay—”

“It’s not. It’s not okay.” He looks down at her, his heart breaking. “He’s manipulating you. This isn’t okay. Going through a rough time is no excuse for what he’s doing.” His eyes darken. “I swear, when I get my hands on him…”

Éponine looks up at him, brown eyes wide. “Gabriel, _please_ don’t do anything stupid. I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is there anything you need right now?” Enjolras asks, taking her hand, his thumb brushing over hers. “Anything I can do at all? Have you considered going to someone?”

Éponine scowls. “I’m not going to the police, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. Like they’d help. Fuck the police. I don’t trust them.”

That’s fair. Enjolras doesn’t either. “Well, I’m always here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I just want to leave him,” Éponine mutters. “But it’s not that simple.”

Enjolras squeezes her hand. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m here for you.”

Éponine falls silent then, contemplative. After several moments, she asks in a timid whisper, “Can you come with me? When I go to end things with him?”

Enjolras smiles rather sadly and kisses her forehead. “Anything you need.”

* * *

It takes her the better part of another few months to work up the courage to finally call Montparnasse and firmly tell him that they need to talk.

She waits until summer vacation, when Enjolras would be back in the city, to call Montparnasse, telling him she’ll meet him in Washington Square Park, near the arch, on Friday at three in the afternoon. He arrives fifteen minutes late, moving with an over-confident swagger, clearly oblivious as to what’s about to happen, that maddeningly arrogant look on his face as he approaches Éponine only to abruptly stop in his tracks when he sees Enjolras standing there a few yards behind her.

Montparnasse laughs a little scornfully, approaching her. “Um, what the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

“You’re late,” Éponine bitterly informs him, avoiding his question.

Montparnasse shrugs, pursing his lips. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She looks up, sucking in a deep breath. Lord give her strength. “Fuck, you _always_ do this.”

“Back to my question,” he snaps, gesticulating in Enjolras’ direction. “What the fuck is Blondie doing here?”

“We need to talk.” Again, she pointedly avoids his question.

He grins rather condescendingly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you said as much on the phone. What’s up?”

“This isn’t working out,” she says. “It hasn’t been working out for a long time now. We’re done. I want you the hell out of my life.”

“What?” His patronising grin twists into an ugly scowl. “ _Why?_ ”

“I realised I deserve a lot better,” Éponine tells him bluntly. “It took me a few months, with how you kept gaslighting me. I deserve so much more than your abusive, manipulative ass. You’re a piece of shit. And I’m done with you. I’ll get a restraining order if I have to. Just get the fuck out of my life.”

Montparnasse stares at her for a good ten seconds before his gaze drifts past her shoulder and to Enjolras, and something akin to realisation dawns on his face. “Oh, this is—this is all because of _him_ , isn’t it? You’re—” He laughs contemptuously, disgust written all over his face. “I knew those tattoos meant something more. He’s why you won’t let me see what’s in that little locket, isn’t he?”

Éponine’s eyebrows draw together, lips pursed, livid. “What the fuck are you _talking_ about?”

“Oh, I get it now.” He throws his head back and lets out a truly awful laugh. “You’ve been fucking him behind my back all this time, haven’t you? You—you—” Blood rushes into his pale face, enraged as he spits, “You little _whore_.”

“No!” Éponine shouts, recoiling at the insult. “There’s _nothing_ going on between me and him! He’s here because I asked him to be, because he’s my _best friend_ , for _fuck’s_ sake, can’t you understand that maybe the reason I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore is because you’re a shitty fucking person?”

Montparnasse laughs even louder, disdainful, derisive. “Jesus _fuck_ , don’t you get it? Open your eyes, Éponine! It’s so fucking _obvious_! The guy’s so in love with you, it’s _pathetic_! He made you do this, didn’t he? He’s trying to come between us!”

“There’s no ‘us’ to come between anymore!” Éponine rebuts. “And if you must know, I chose to do this all on my own. Because you’re an _asshole_. God, you’re so fucking insecure. We’re _done_.”

“I have a say in this too, you know!” Montparnasse yells. “It’s my relationship as well! You can’t just—you can’t—you—” He lunges forward, raising his hand to strike her.

Éponine’s eyes widen before she squeezes them shut, and she braces herself for the blow, but it never comes.

Wondering what the fuck just happened, overwhelmed by the ringing in her ears, she opens her eyes again to see Enjolras standing over Montparnasse, blue eyes icy as he glares at him while shaking out his right hand, and to her horror, blood stains his knuckles. Montparnasse screams profanities at him, a hand covering his nose, but the damage is done. Éponine can see the blood dripping onto his leather jacket.

“What the _fuck_ , man?!” Montparnasse screeches, his words garbled, his voice nasally. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“Then don’t you fucking _dare_ touch her,” Enjolras practically spits, his voice dangerously low, cold fury dripping from every syllable, “ _ever_ again.”

Éponine rushes up to him, eyes wide as she grabs hold of him by the arms. “Gabriel, I _told_ you not to do anything stupid!”

“He was about to hit you, Éponine!” Enjolras heatedly points out, wincing as he cradles his right hand in his left, bruises already beginning to form on his bloodied knuckles. “There are a lot of people around, I’m sure at least a few of them can vouch for me.”

Sure enough, they seem to have attracted a small audience over the course of their escalating argument before Enjolras stepped in. A few even have their phones out, having recorded the whole ordeal. Éponine bristles a little at that, irked at the thought of her messy breakup with Montparnasse being caught on camera, but she soon realises that if someone indeed got footage of the whole thing, Enjolras could be let off the hook. Still, she says quietly, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Enjolras asks, though he has the grace to look at least a little sheepish. “He doesn’t seem like he could be reasoned with in a rational, mature conversation, if what I just saw was any indication.”

Éponine snorts in spite of herself, bowing her head and leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest. “I guess you’re right.” She looks up when the noise from the little audience they’ve drawn audibly dies down, blanching at the sight of a pair of cops approaching. “Oh, fuck. Okay, we’re going to talk more later.”

* * *

Hours later, once they’ve gotten everything sorted out thanks to a video one of the bystanders took, they’re on the way back to his place from the precinct, taking the 4 train up to the Upper East Side. Éponine lays her head on Enjolras’ shoulder, the two of them crammed into a seat in the corner of the train car they’re in, and laces her fingers through his, their tattoos lining up. He winces slightly; his bruised knuckles are still a little sore from punching Montparnasse in the face earlier. Éponine just laughs, looking back up and shaking her head.

“We’re going to be _great_ lawyers, aren’t we?” she quips, a teasing edge to her voice.

Enjolras snorts. “Yes, we are.”

“I still can’t believe you _punched_ him in the _face_ ,” she remarks, laughing to herself under her breath.

He rolls his eyes, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “You’ve seen me punch people in the face before. Like that cop who called you a… I’m not going to say it, besides, you remember what he said. Or that obnoxious little alt-right dipshit back in junior year of high school.”

Éponine laughs out loud. “How could I ever forget _that_? The oh so perfect Gabriel Enjolras got detention for a week because of it. Your parents were _pissed_.”

“Less so after I told them he was a little Nazi in the making,” Enjolras defends. “ _Someone_ had to do something about his hate speech. Besides, he ended up getting expelled anyway, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. I wonder if he’s had some sense knocked into his brain yet.” Éponine smiles and sighs, absently rubbing circles into the back of Enjolras’ hand. “Montparnasse was talking shit the entire time. You probably heard; everyone within a fifty-foot radius probably did, he was so damn loud. He said you were in love with me and trying to come between me and him.” She scoffs and laughs, rolling her eyes and not noticing how Enjolras goes rigid beside her. “Like, as if, right?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras fakes a laugh. “As if.”

She lays her head on his shoulder once again, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Would your parents mind if I stayed at your place for a bit? Just for the next two weeks or something. I—I read up a bit on it, apparently the first two weeks after leaving an abusive relationship are the most dangerous, some victims actually get killed by their abusers…” She trails off, chewing on her bottom lip. Enjolras squeezes her hand.

“Of course they won’t mind,” he replies. “Anything you need.” He smiles a little to himself, saying, “It’s been a while since we had a sleepover.”

Éponine laughs out loud. “Yeah, you’re telling me. We could build blanket forts like we used to do when we were kids.”

“We’re twenty, aren’t we supposed to be above all that now?”

“Fuck that! You’re never too old for blanket forts.”

They let a comfortable silence fall between them after that, walking to his apartment building side by side, and only when they get into the elevator that’s to take them up to his parents’ penthouse does she speak up again. “Hey, Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft as she gazes up into his eyes. “For everything. I mean it.”

He smiles at her, fond, and takes her hand to give it a squeeze. “Anytime.”


	13. a realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She visits him in California for his twenty-first birthday. A series of events culminates in an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god, this is a beast of a chapter! longest one thus far, almost 9k. (i did say when i started this fic that i'm very inconsistent when it comes to chapter length lol.)
> 
> content warning for recreational drug use (specifically, pot brownies). plus some tequila, in éponine's case.

* * *

In October of their junior year, Enjolras sends Éponine a plane ticket to California.

“‘I know I promised before sophomore year even started to send you a plane ticket, but it completely slipped my mind; I’m sorry for that,’” Éponine reads aloud from the little letter Enjolras sent along with the ticket over coffee at the Café Musain while Grantaire listens attentively, almost uncharacteristically so for someone with the attention span of a goldfish. “‘But I’m hoping you could find the time to come visit for my birthday. We could go to Los Angeles, if you’d like. It’s a five and a half–hour drive, so we’d have to get up early, but if you want, we can go. San Francisco and San Jose are considerably closer, though, so we can go to either of those cities—or both—if you’re not up for the drive to L.A. Call me when you’ve made up your mind. Love, Gabriel.’”

“Aww,” Grantaire coos, a shit-eating grin on his face, a roguish gleam in his blue eyes. “You two are so _cute_.”

Éponine rolls her eyes, folding the letter back up and placing it back in its envelope. “He’s my best friend, R. What are you implying?”

“He punched your abusive ex-boyfriend in the face when he was about to hit you, Ép,” Grantaire points out. “And he got fucking _arrested_ because of how he almost beat the shit out of that cop who called you the C-word a few years back. There’s no way that dude isn’t at least halfway in love with you.”

“ _Or_ he’s my best friend in the entire universe and has been since we were five years old, and he did it because we’ve been defending each other from assholes nearly our whole lives,” Éponine replies, rolling her eyes as she takes a sip of her latte. “Next you’re going to say I’ve somehow been secretly in love with him for years because of how I got into that fistfight with that guy who insulted him back in seventh grade. I’m not, for the record,” she hastily adds when he raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to say something. “In love with him, I mean.”

Grantaire laughs. “That guy was three times bigger than you, I’m surprised he didn’t break all your little bones.”

Éponine sticks her tongue out at him. “I’m made of steel, Florida man.”

She takes another sip of her drink as Grantaire eyes the envelope on the table again, wiggling his eyebrows. “ _Anyway_ ,” he pointedly says, “I’m just saying that after all you two went through together, it’s not surprising that he’s into you now. Like, romantic stylez.”

Éponine scoffs. “Oh, come on. Again, I’ve known him since we were _five_. He’s like my brother.”

“No, _I’m_ like your brother,” Grantaire contradicts. “ _Joseph_ is like your brother. All the other guys? _They’re_ like your brothers. And there’s Gavroche, your _actual_ brother. And lemme tell you right now, we don’t look at you like you’re our entire world. We don’t make such a big deal of being all the way across the country from you and spend half a frickin’ hour saying goodbye at the airport. We don’t go as far as punching your asshole ex in the face, even though we all think he deserves it.” He pauses, considering it a bit. “Actually, Joseph might. But that’s ’cause he’s Joseph. But anyway, my point _is_ , Gabe is the _farthest_ thing from your brother. You two have _matching tattoos_ , for fuck’s sake.”

Éponine rubs her moon tattoo, snorting. “And what about it? Plenty of best friends have matching tattoos.”

“There were loads of tattoos you two could’ve chosen from,” he points out. “And yet you chose the pair that traditionally has romantic connotations.” He smirks at her. “And then there’s your locket. Ever since he gave it to you, you hardly ever take it off.”

Her hand flies to the locket resting against her chest, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger rather protectively. “So?”

“Lockets are _romantic_ ,” he singsongs.

She snorts again. “Yeah, okay. I still stand by my notion that he’s like my brother.”

His eyebrows fly up so high, they nearly disappear into his hairline. “What the fuck kind of brother takes their sister to senior prom?”

She groans loudly and rolls her eyes. “We went as _friends_!”

“And yet neither of you had any problem rejecting a ton of other people just so you could go with each other ‘as friends’,” he reminds her, a triumphant little smirk on his face. Éponine resists the urge to smack it off.

She chugs the last of her latte and stands up so fast, she rattles the table, giving him a _look_. “I’m going to get myself another drink, _bye_ , R!”

“Friends don’t go as Katniss and Peeta for Halloween, Éponine!” Grantaire calls after her as she stalks up to the counter.

She laughs out loud and throws her hand back, flipping him off.

* * *

Enjolras’ birthday that year falls on a weekday, but thankfully it’s during fall break, as it usually is, so Éponine doesn’t have to run around asking classmates to keep her up to date on her classes. Grantaire, Bahorel, and her siblings come see her off at the airport before she settles in for the long six-hour flight to California. She’s downloaded six hours’ worth of music to keep herself occupied on the way there.

“Here,” Bahorel says after he finally releases Éponine from his giant bear hug, holding out a strip of condoms for her to take. She stares up at him for a good ten seconds too long before she smacks his chest, rolling her eyes and snorting. He just grins toothily at her. “Hey, you _never know_.”

The flight takes up the better part of her day; by the time they land, she’s all achy and stiff after six straight hours on a plane. It’s alleviated somewhat by the fact that she’s in first class because Enjolras is loaded, but even still, she’s all too eager to finally get off by the time the plane lands in San Francisco. She zips through as quick as she possibly can, grabbing her suitcase from baggage claim the moment she sees it roll out on the conveyor belt and running towards the exit, searching for Enjolras in the crowd. It isn’t particularly difficult, considering how he towers over most people.

She immediately picks him out from the bunch, wearing the Black Lives Matter T-shirt she bought for him online back during freshman year of college under his denim jacket, along with chinos and his red Chucks, holding a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand. Éponine promptly abandons her luggage to sprint towards him and launch herself into his arms, flinging her arms around his neck and hooking her legs around his waist, letting out a delighted shriek.

“Whoa!” Enjolras stumbles backwards a few steps, nearly thrown off-balance, before he returns the embrace, laughing along with her as she climbs down from him. “Easy, there.”

Éponine beams up at him, dimples on full display, arms still around his neck as her gaze trails from his eyes to the bouquet in his hand. When she drops her arms from around his neck, he takes a step back to allow some more space between them, holding the sunflowers out to her. She grins, taking the bouquet, and pretends to delicately gasp, her lips forming a small ‘O’. “For _me_?”

He rolls his eyes, well used to her antics. “You’re ridiculous.”

She throws her head back and laughs. Something warm erupts in her chest as her gaze returns to the bouquet of sunflowers in her hand. She thinks the last time she mentioned that sunflowers are her favourite was back in eighth grade. Honestly, she’s a little surprised he remembered.

Looking around, she admits, “This is the first time I’ve ever been this far out west.” She grins up at him. “So where’s this fancy apartment you and Marc are renting out? I want to see.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes again, a smile on his lips. “It’s nothing special. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it _fancy_. Come on, let’s go get your luggage before someone steals it.”

Éponine looks back over her shoulder and feels her cheeks grow hot at the realisation that she just left her baggage lying there for anyone to take. Sheepishly, she goes back to fetch them, dragging her suitcase behind her with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Enjolras cocks his head in the direction of the duffel. “Do you want me to help with that?”

Éponine lets loose a sigh and hands it over to him. “Yes, please.”

Enjolras smiles and easily slings it over his shoulder, putting his free arm around Éponine as they head out in the direction of the parking lot, looking for the rental he drives while he’s in California, with how his own car is all the way back in New York. The drive from the airport to Palo Alto lasts roughly twenty minutes. It’s weird, driving through the streets of a city that doesn’t seem to be making a blatant effort to make itself heard. It only hits her now how _loud_ New York is compared to most cities, both literally and metaphorically.

Enjolras and Feuilly’s shared apartment is roomier than most college students’ apartments would be, though that’s probably due to Enjolras’ advantage of having a trust fund. Éponine drops her bags in the living room, looking around. “Where’s Marc?”

“He went home to New Jersey for the break,” Enjolras replies. “You can sleep in his room, if you’d like. Unless you’d—” He chokes on his own words a little bit then, and Éponine gives him a weird look before he clears his throat. “I mean, if you want to—to share my bed, then that—that’s okay, too.”

She scrunches up her face at him and grins. “I think I’ll stay in your room, if that’s okay with you.”

His heart might skip a few beats and he swallows, nodding. “Yeah, sure! That’s totally fine.”

Éponine waltzes right on into Enjolras’ room, dragging her suitcase behind her as he carries her duffel bag inside and carefully deposits it by the door. She sets her sunflowers down on the nightstand before looking around, whistling appreciatively at the nicely if sparsely decorated bedroom, with a few succulents on the desk and windowsill and some pictures in frames on the wall, alongside a cork board with even more photographs pinned onto it. A grin crosses her face at the sight of herself in many of them, leaving her suitcase by the foot of the queen-size bed and plopping down onto the mattress.

“So this is where the magic happens,” she comments. He feels his face burn red.

“I haven’t brought _that_ many people home, if that’s what you’re implying,” he tells her.

She only stares at him for quite a few moments too long, before she replies, “You know, for once I wasn’t being dirty.”

She forces herself into releasing some of the tension from her shoulders. She doesn’t know _why_ the thought of him having brought people home and quite possibly sleeping with them in the very bed she’s sitting on right now bothers her as much as it does. She’s not sure why it even bothers her at all in the first place.

Éponine shakes it off, determined not to think about it any further. So she just cocks her head and gives him another teasing grin, asking, “You really okay with me sleeping in your room? Because I can always take Marc’s room, you know. It’s not a problem.”

Enjolras nods, lips forming a tiny smile. “No, it’s okay,” he replies, and fuck, he kind of hates how breathless he sounds. “We’ve been doing it since we were kids, haven’t we? No need to make it weird now.”

“Fair point.” She grins at him even more and he finds himself smiling back, tender, adoring.

God, he is in _way_ too deep to even think about trying to get out now.

* * *

On the morning of his birthday, Enjolras wakes up to find the space beside him on his bed empty, a little cold already. Blinking, disoriented, he sits up straighter in bed, looking around and wondering where the hell Éponine’s gone. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, slipping his feet into the fluffy pink flamingo slippers Courfeyrac got for him as a Christmas present back in high school and pulling on his cardinal-red Stanford hoodie, he pads towards the door of his bedroom only to hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. Éponine soon materialises in the doorway, blocking his path. She’s only half-successful in doing so, considering how he’s considerably taller than she is, especially when barefoot, so she stands on tiptoe in an attempt to keep him from trying to peer over her head at what it is she wants to conceal from him so badly.

“No!” she whines. “You’re up too early!”

“Thank you for the warm birthday wishes,” he replies a little wryly. “Why are you up already? You always sleep in. Nina, can you please just let me pass?”

“No, you stay right here.”

“I don’t want to, I’m hungry! Why would you keep me from having breakfast on my _birthday_ , of all days?”

“Just five more minutes,” Éponine pleads, anxiously fiddling with her locket. He’s noticed that it seems to be a habit that she’s developed. “Just give me five more minutes. Please? Can you just get back in bed for five more minutes?”

Enjolras furrows his eyebrows, baffled. “Why?”

“You’ll see in five minutes. Just get back to bed. Please?”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, and obliges, walking back to his bed and taking off his flamingo slippers before he climbs back in. “There. Are you happy?”

“Yes, very much. Okay, now stay right there and don’t move.” And Éponine vanishes from sight again, shutting the door behind her and leaving Enjolras alone in his bedroom. He sighs, grabbing his phone off the nightstand and figuring that he might as well call his parents. Assuming they’re both at home. Well, he knows his mother would be. Or at least, she should be.

He opens FaceTime and calls his mom, her face filling the screen along with his dad’s in no time at all. Lucie beams at the sight of him, waving. _“Oh, Gabriel! Happy birthday!”_

 _“Can’t believe you’re twenty-one now, kid,”_ Matthieu says. The Southern twang to his voice has faded somewhat from all his years living in New York. He smiles, reaching out to touch the screen. _“We’re sorry we haven’t been able to be there with you for your birthday these past few years.”_

“It’s okay,” Enjolras murmurs. “Mom shouldn’t exert herself too much.”

Lucie huffs a little at that. _“I’m_ fine _, Gabriel. Your father keeps hovering over me.”_

“He just wants what’s best for you, Mom,” Enjolras says, his lips twitching as he suppresses a smile. “Besides, Dad’s a doctor, too.”

Lucie purses her lips. _“Your father’s a heart surgeon, not an oncologist. And I think having a close relationship with the patient can cloud your sense of judgment.”_

Matthieu rolls his eyes and smiles, kissing Lucie’s temple. _“You need to rest, love. It’s nothing personal.”_

_“Of course it’s not.”_

_“Alright, maybe just a little bit.”_

Enjolras laughs before he looks up at the sound of Éponine clearing his throat, standing in the doorway and raising an expectant eyebrow at him with a bit of a smile on her face. “I have to go, Nina has something planned,” he says a little apologetically, giving his parents a sheepish little smile.

He thinks he might imagine it, but he could swear there’s something of a knowing smile on his mother’s face as she waves goodbye. _“Well, y’all have fun, then! Happy birthday again, sweet pea. Hope you have a great day!”_

“I’ll call you back later,” Enjolras promises before he closes out of the call and places his phone back on the nightstand. He stands up and raises his eyebrows back at Éponine. “Alright, so what is it?”

“Close your eyes,” Éponine orders, walking back over to him and taking his hand. He obliges, but not without rolling his eyes first, a little smile on his lips as she guides him out of his bedroom, and she sits him down at what he thinks is the dining table. He can hear the smile in her voice as she says, “Okay, now open.”

Enjolras opens his eyes and they almost instantly widen in surprise.

Éponine’s set up an elaborate birthday breakfast for him: fluffy pancakes with maple syrup drizzled all over them and strawberries and blueberries artfully arranged around the edge of the plate, a glass of orange juice adjacent to the plate of pancakes, a little bowl of Lucky Charms marshmallows because why not, and a glass cup of— “Is this tiramisu?” Enjolras asks almost incredulously, eyebrows furrowing as he holds the cup up to inspect it closer.

“Sure is!” Éponine chirps. “You’re _welcome_ , birthday boy, I spent the longest time making that. I was up since _five_.”

Enjolras smiles up at her, reaching up to caress her cheek. She startles a little at the unexpected gesture before she leans into his touch as he says, “I love it, Nina. I love you. Thank you.”

Éponine grins back in that easy way of hers and moves around him to lean down and wrap her arms around his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head. “Love you too, babe. Happy birthday.” She presses her lips into his blond curls. “Look, I made you golden pancakes for your golden birthday.”

He chuckles. “How ingenious.”

Éponine sits on the left side of the table from him, her elbows on the table with her chin propped up on the heels of her palms as she watches him eat, almost to the point of awkwardness. At one point while Enjolras sticks his fork through a strawberry, he gives her an odd look, asking, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

She waves him off with a dismissive laugh. “I already ate earlier. Ate all the less-than-perfect pancakes. Nothing but the best for the birthday boy, obviously.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, bowing his head as his cheeks heat up. Funny how she always has a way of joking around before saying the sweetest things so effortlessly. “Well, thank you.”

“I also went down to the store to buy some bacon,” Éponine tells him. “I already ate them all, though. Sorry. But you didn’t have any bacon in your fridge.”

“Marc is Jewish,” Enjolras says with a shrug. “And it’s fine, I’ve never really liked bacon anyway.”

“Is he, really? Cool. And clearly you’ve got horrible taste.”

He laughs wryly. “Why are you acting like this is such a surprise? I’ve never liked bacon for as long as we’ve known each other. It is literally just strips of fat held together by a bit of meat. No, thank you. If anything, _you’re_ the one with horrible taste.”

“Well, you know what they say—having bad taste is better than having no taste. So ha.”

“Whatever you say, Nina.”

They end up spending much of the day outside, exploring Palo Alto, Enjolras taking Éponine to the places he and Feuilly like to frequent. They explore Googleplex, visit Hoover Tower, go to look at the Stanford Mausoleum—Enjolras comments on how students hold an annual Halloween party there. She asks if anyone’s ever done some freaky shit at that party and if he’s ever taken part in them. He chooses to ignore the question.

He takes her to a local coffee shop that he likes, buying themselves drinks—Americano for him, latte macchiato for her, both iced. She snorts at his choice of drink, bumping his shoulder. “God, that’s so typical.”

He retaliates with a light shove, rolling his eyes. “It’s my birthday. It’s the one day of the year when you aren’t allowed to make fun of me.”

“Hmm. Good point.” She grins from around the straw of her coffee. “You better not be losing your allegiance to Café Musain, though.”

He snorts. “Nina, it’s a coffee shop. It’s not that deep.”

They drive up to San Francisco sometime after lunch, getting themselves Ghirardelli ice cream sundaes and eating it on a bench outside of the shop before going on the hunt for a birthday cake. After nearly two hours of combing the city for reputable bakeries, they get a red velvet cake—his birthday cake every year has been red velvet for as long as the both of them can remember—and drive back down to Palo Alto. Éponine fucks around with Enjolras’ music the whole way home, constantly switching back and forth between Taylor Swift and the angsty alt-rock they (mostly she) discovered together back in middle school.

Dinner is nothing elaborate, just them ordering takeout from Panda Express and her making a point of obnoxiously singing “Happy Birthday” to him while she records him blowing out the candles on her phone, taking grainy selfies together to post to Instagram later. Afterwards, they dance around the living room while _Mamma Mia!_ plays on the TV before they collapse onto the sofa at the end of the movie to watch _Revenge of the Sith_.

Éponine opens her locket to gaze at the picture inside, thoughtful. Enjolras leans over and sees how she’s replaced the tiny photograph inside. “You changed the picture,” he comments softly.

She smiles. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

It’s a candid Jehan had taken of the two of them at pride last year, Éponine wearing her giant bi flag as a cape, glitter on her face and pink mirrored sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead, Enjolras draped in a demisexual flag Courfeyrac had thrown at him, the pan flag painted onto his cheeks, the two of them laughing together. He smiles at the memory. Not long after, she closes her locket again, returning her attention to the TV.

At some point during the movie, Éponine lets out a gasp and sits bolt upright as if she’s just been burned by something. Enjolras yelps in alarm, eyebrows drawing together as he sits up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re in California,” she says, like she’s only now realising this.

He frowns, bewildered. “Yes, and?”

“Weed is legal here,” she realises aloud. “Like, _completely legal_.” Her lips form a little ‘O’, her awestruck countenance making it look as if she’s just had an epiphany. “And you’re twenty-one now.”

He furrows his eyebrows, getting a sense of what she’s getting at. And he’s rather concerned. “Yes, _and_?”

She grins, a devilish little thing. “We’re making brownies tomorrow.”

* * *

They search up the closest dispensaries the morning after his birthday and drive out to the nearest one, Éponine waiting in the car while Enjolras goes inside. He texts her continuously throughout the whole process, asking her what kind of high they’re looking to experience—apparently, they’re asking him about that so they’ll know what kind of weed to give him—and commenting on the surprisingly lengthy process. She just laughs, wondering how the fuck their lives have come to this—her wearing a rainbow unicorn onesie as she sits in the car outside of the dispensary, sweating just a little bit due to the almost inordinately warm weather, waiting for him to buy weed for them to make pot brownies with. It’s rather surreal. She wonders what their middle-school selves would have to say about it.

On the way home, they stop by a liquor store and she flashes them her fake ID to buy herself a bottle of tequila, something he side-eyes on the way home, and he lectures her almost the entire way back about the dangers of crossfading while she just snorts and rolls her eyes and turns the music up louder, telling him that she’ll be _careful_ , he’ll be right there to take care of her and make sure she doesn’t go too far anyway, she trusts him with her life. It gives him a funny feeling inside, to hear her say that aloud. It’s a given, of course, considering how they’ve been best friends for well over a decade, but still.

Baking the pot brownies is easier said than done, with Éponine reading aloud the very specific instructions on how to properly decarboxylate the weed for making cannabutter from her phone, whatever the fuck that means, and Enjolras does as she instructs, the two of them later mixing the brownie batter and leaving quite a bit of a mess in the kitchen by the time they shove the brownies into the oven. Éponine sighs and takes off Feuilly’s apron, which she’s borrowed for the occasion, and hangs it back up before she jumps up onto the kitchen island.

“R’s going to be so fucking jealous,” she comments with a grin.

Enjolras leans back across the counter, crossing his arms across his chest and rolling his eyes, shaking his head as he chuckles. “You are a terrible influence.”

Éponine sticks her tongue out at him. “Says the guy who got us both arrested back when we were eighteen.”

“If I recall correctly, _you_ were the first one out of the two of us to fight back against that cop.”

“Well, I can’t say there aren’t benefits in being ethnically ambiguous. It’s highly unlikely that I’ll get gunned down by bastard cops. And he was being an unreasonable fuckwit. Nobody was causing any trouble until the pigs showed up! Anyway, _you_ were the one who almost beat the shit out of him and got us arrested. I mean, thanks for defending me and all, but Julien and your dad had to come _bail us out_.”

“You got yourself arrested. I never told you to do what I did. I think you were about to step on his neck when I stopped you.” He pauses, then snorts. “You know, whenever you said that if a man called you a derogatory name, you would step on his throat and snap his neck, I always thought you were exaggerating. I never expected you to actually try and go through with it.”

“You know me. I don’t take kindly to misogyny. And clearly you don’t either.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Well, no shit, why the hell would you take it any other way?”

She meets his eyes then, and for a moment, it’s silent. And then she bursts out laughing. He can’t help but smile.

“I wonder if we’ve still got those mugshots lying around,” she muses thoughtfully once her laughter dies down.

He shrugs and smiles, leaning back against the counter. “I’m fairly certain my mom put them away somewhere.”

It feels like it takes ages for their brownies to be done, when in reality it only takes about thirty minutes, though they do need to set aside some time to let the brownies cool down. They talk about everything and nothing while they wait, from their plans to take the LSAT next summer to how crazy it is that Courfeyrac’s dog Obi-Wan Kenobi still hasn’t snuffed it yet after fourteen damn years. Enjolras narrowly stops Éponine from drinking tequila before she has a brownie. He’s heard horror stories from classmates. Apparently, drinking alcohol after having weed is okay most of the time, but having it the other way around is a big no-no.

It takes a while for the high to kick in. Roughly an hour or so. However long it takes, it’s enough time for Enjolras to start thinking that maybe, just maybe, they should have put more thought into this and properly weighed the pros and cons beforehand. But before he can ponder it any further, the weed hits.

They’re lying on the hardwood floor of his bedroom when it kicks in, lying perpendicular to each other, with her head resting against his stomach. He stares up at the ceiling fan, a blank expression on his face, rather dazed. “How did I let you talk me into this?” he mumbles.

Éponine sits up and shrugs. “Dunno. Wait a bit.” She stumbles to her feet and out of the room, soon returning with that bottle of tequila she brought earlier and a glass, both of which look close to slipping out of her hands and shattering on the floor. She flashes him a grin as she plops down cross-legged on the floor and struggles to open the bottle, prompting him to take it and open it for her. “Aw, thanks, Gabey.”

She pours herself a full glass before chugging it all in one go, setting the empty glass down beside her and letting loose a sigh as she does. Enjolras sits up and leans back against his bed-frame, tipping his head back against the mattress and sniffling.

“Are you okay?” Éponine asks in concern, scooting closer to sit beside him, leaning back against the bed as well.

“My mom will die,” Enjolras whispers, a single tear escaping out of the corner of his eye. “She’s going to die, probably really soon, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. And I don’t know what I’m going to do when she does.”

Éponine holds up the bottle of tequila, swinging it back and forth in front of his face. “Want some?”

Enjolras vehemently shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I’m pushing it enough already by getting high in the first place.”

She puts the bottle down beside her, rolling her eyes. “Good to know you’re still Mr. Wordy McWordy Pants even when you’re high.”

He doesn’t even laugh at that, just purses his lips. “God, my mom’s really going to die, isn’t she? Someday, she will. Probably really soon, too.” His eyes darken. “Fuck cancer.”

She cocks her head and frowns, like she’s struggling to come to terms with what he’s saying. “I don’t get it,” she says at last. “I thought pot was supposed to help you relax.”

“I guess it doesn’t work for me,” he mumbles, tears staining his face with how he just can’t stop fucking _thinking_ about his mother’s inevitable death. “So now we know that I’m never doing this again.”

“Hmm. Okay, then. No pressure.” She giggles a little, laying her head on his shoulder momentarily before straightening back up. “Hey, you know what we should do? Let’s watch a movie.”

He turns his head to look at her, frowning. “What, in this state?”

“Sure!” She stands up and he nearly has a heart attack when she looks precariously close to slipping and falling on top of her tequila bottle before she catches herself at the last second. “There are tons of movies that are _great_ to watch when you’re high. Like Baz Luhrmann movies.” She gasps and nearly falls over. “Let’s watch _Moulin Rouge!_ ”

So that’s how they end up in the living room, slumped back against the sofa cushions and watching Ewan McGregor serenading Nicole Kidman with silly love songs, the bright colours and psychedelic visuals jumping out at them. Éponine can’t stop giggling hysterically every time Ewan McGregor is on screen, which is most of the movie, honestly, and the fact that both the weed and the alcohol has fully kicked in for her at this point just adds to that. Enjolras has to force the glass out of her hand after she’s had her second glass of tequila, going to put the bottle in a high place she won’t be able to reach and putting the glass in a dishwasher.

“Boo!” Éponine calls out, kicking her leg out in Enjolras’ direction and giving him a sour look as he returns from the kitchen. “I’m not even _that_ drunk.”

“No, but you’re high as well,” Enjolras points out, sitting back down beside her. She juts out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout and curls up, laying her head on his shoulder.

“You’re no _fun_ ,” she informs him grumpily.

He rolls his eyes, but it just makes him dizzy, so he stops. “Love you, too.”

They continue to watch the movie, Éponine singing along from time to time but mostly just murmuring nonsense under her breath about how much she wants to lick Ewan McGregor’s face while Enjolras struggles not to think about his mom dying and in doing so only ends up thinking even more about it. He refuses to cry again. He’s not going to cry again. He’s being _ridiculous_. Stop.

But then the doctor is telling Zidler about how Satine is dying from consumption, and Enjolras starts crying again, much to Éponine’s dazed confusion. She looks up at him through bewildered eyes, cocking her head. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras bites down on his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that pot brownie in the first place. It did absolutely nothing to relieve his anxiety; if anything, the weed just made it increase. Well, too late now.

“Satine’s _dying_ ,” he says, all teary-eyed. “Just like how my _mom’s_ dying.”

Éponine purses her lips, a little sad. “You want some tequila?” she offers again, her words rather slurred.

“No!” Enjolras looks aghast at the very thought of it. “That would just make it worse!”

He returns his gaze to the TV screen, determined not to think any more about it. After some time, he forgets about his prior sorrows, the weed making his brain all fuzzy. He welcomes it. He’d rather not think about the fact that one day his mom will die.

Éponine occasionally steals glances at him as they watch the movie, observing his expressions, trying to decipher his mood. She doesn’t like seeing him so sad. She wants to make him feel better. Like Christian does with Satine.

Her gaze trails to his lips. They look nice. Not dry and chapped like hers, at least. (Ugh, how are her lips _still_ chapped even with all the Coke-flavoured lip balm she constantly lathers on?) She absently wonders what it would be like to kiss him. He has really nice lips. They’re just so nicely shaped. She kind of wants to kiss him. Just so she’ll know what his nice lips would feel like against her own.

Enjolras tenses up beside her, turning his head and giving her a strange look. “What?”

“What?” Éponine echoes, wondering what the hell he’s responding to.

“You—you were talking about how—” He swallows, spots of bright red blooming in his cheeks. “You kept talking about how you want to kiss me.”

She goes still. Oh, shit, did she say that out loud?

“Yes, you did,” Enjolras says, prompting Éponine to realise that she said _that_ out loud as well.

She glances sideways at the movie and gets an idea, sitting up straighter and folding her legs under her as she faces him. “Would that make you feel better?” she asks, very seriously.

His breath catches in his throat. “What would?”

“If I kiss you.” She doesn’t break his gaze. “Would that make you feel better?”

He sorely hopes she doesn’t notice him swallow. “I…” He lets his eyes fall to her lips for the fraction of a second before he snaps out of it, but she seems to interpret that split second of weakness as confirmation and starts leaning in closer.

He forgets how to breathe. There she is, her face inching closer and closer to his with each passing second, and he could just lean forward a few millimetres and close the gap between them. She’s so close. He could just do it. She’s _right there_. He can feel her shallow breaths against his lips and he should just _kiss_ her.

But then he remembers. She’s confused. She’s bound to be, considering how she’s had a pot brownie and two glasses of tequila within the last two hours. And he doesn’t want her doing anything she might regret later when she’s sober again. Even if it does come at the cost of what he finds himself wanting to do _so_ badly. Maybe if she were sober; that would be a whole other matter. But she’s nowhere near sober right now.

Enjolras stops Éponine, placing his hand on her shoulder and carefully pushing her away. “No, Éponine,” he murmurs, careful to keep his voice quiet, his tone gentle, so not to upset her. He’s seen it happen before over the years, the most recent being one time last summer. She and Bahorel were involved in a friendly argument, and the moment he raised his voice even a tiny bit, she flinched and nearly broke down in tears before beginning to apologise profusely, saying it was all her fault. “Stop. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Uh, _duh_ ,” she says, snorting. “I’m not straight, so like, of _course_ I’m not thinking straight.”

His heart sinks a little when he sees her face fall at how he doesn’t even laugh at that, but he doesn’t let that show on his face, simply furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at her. “Nina, please. _Please._ Just don’t.”

The way she looks at him makes his heart ache, with that innocent bewilderment and slight dejection clouding her warm brown eyes before she gives a timid little nod. He stands up before she can say anything, wondering what the fuck happened to the air in this place, and tells her quietly, “I think I’m going to go take a nap. I don’t think weed works for me.”

“Okay,” is all she can murmur in response.

He heads to his bedroom as quickly as he can, wondering what the fuck just happened.

He doesn’t end up sleeping like he said he would; instead, he just puts on headphones and puts a playlist Éponine made for him on shuffle while curled up on his bed, tuning everything else out. God, he’s pathetic.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he reaches the end of the playlist—it’s a long fucking playlist—but by the time he emerges from his bedroom, Éponine is knocked out cold on the sofa, fast asleep. He walks over to her, wondering if he should wake her up or let her sleep it off. He goes for the latter, picking her up bridal style, gently so he won’t wake her, and adjusts her position so her head would be resting against his shoulder as he carries her back to his bedroom and lays her down on his bed, pulling the covers up for her.

After standing there for several long moments, contemplating whether or not he should join her and sleep it off like she’s apparently doing, Enjolras climbs into bed, keeping a bit of distance between them. He soon falls asleep beside her.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps. All he knows is that he wakes up to morning light and a lack of a duvet, and also Éponine exclaiming, “What the _fuck_ time is it how long did I fucking sleep Gabriel _why_ didn’t you wake me up oh my God!”

Enjolras blinks, disoriented, and sits up in bed to see Éponine staring out the window, his duvet wrapped around her and the hood of her unicorn onesie from yesterday pulled up. She turns around when he clears his throat, and he thinks she turns a little pink. He feels his cheeks grow warm as well.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I’m just—did I really sleep for _fourteen hours_?”

He steals a glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “It looks like it.”

Éponine waddles back over to the bed and flops down onto the mattress with a throaty groan, cocooning herself in the duvet as Enjolras sits there beside her. “God, I’m so embarrassed about yesterday,” she bemoans, burying her face in a pillow.

He reaches out to place his hand on what feels like her leg through the duvet. “You don’t have to be.”

She groans again, loudly, muffled by the pillow. “I’m never touching pot again until I’m at _least_ twenty-four.”

Try as he might, he can’t help but chuckle. “Alright, suit yourself.”

Éponine whines incoherently for some more before she sits up and pulls off her hood, her deep brown hair in disarray. “’M sorry, about yesterday,” she mumbles. “When I tried to… y’know.”

Enjolras nods, attempting to appear nonchalant. If his face is as red as he feels it is, then he’s failing miserably. “It’s okay.” Is it?

She avoids eye contact, looking down and letting her hair shield her face from view. “Let’s just forget about it. It never happened.”

He nods again. No matter how hard he tries, he knows he’s never going to be able to forget about it now. “Okay.”

She smiles at him, sincere, grateful, and leans her head on his shoulder, toying with her locket. “Where’s the nearest Burger King? I need greasy food.” She groans at the pounding in her head, squeezing her eyes shut and making a face. Those two glasses of tequila after a whole-ass pot brownie were a _mistake_.

He laughs and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll have some delivered.”

She lifts her head and grins up at him. “Thanks, Gabey. Love ya.”

At that, he thinks his heart rate rises. Just a little bit.

* * *

Her week with him ends far too quickly for their liking.

A day before she’s set to fly back to New York, Feuilly returns from New Jersey, and he’s quick to notice how his bedroom is exactly the same as he left it when he gets back. He gives Enjolras numerous questioning looks about it, but keeps his mouth shut. At least until they see Éponine off at the airport.

After giving Feuilly a hug and making him promise to make sure her dearest bestest friend doesn’t work himself to death, she pulls Enjolras in for quite the long embrace, standing on tiptoe and burying her face in his shoulder, her arms wrapped tight around his neck while his wind around her waist. Once they pull apart, he presses her lips to her forehead in a tender kiss goodbye before they gaze into each other’s eyes for way too long for it to be considered purely platonic, and once they snap out of it, she finally bids the two of them (but really, mostly Enjolras) goodbye and goes through the gate and disappears out of sight. Immediately, Feuilly turns to Enjolras.

“ _What_ was that all about?” he questions, raising his eyebrows rather incredulously.

Enjolras shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, averting his gaze and turning a little red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Feuilly stares at him. “You kept making heart eyes, for lack of a better term, at each other.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes as they start to walk back towards the exit and out into the parking lot, but Feuilly doesn’t fail to notice how he turns even redder. “Maybe she likes you back,” Feuilly suggests.

Enjolras laughs a little wryly. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s funny, when I got back, I noticed how my bedroom hadn’t even been touched since I left,” Feuilly casually notes. “And I think I remember telling you that Éponine’s free to take my room while I’m gone.”

Enjolras’ face is now incriminatingly scarlet. “She was the one who wanted to stay in my room.”

Feuilly smiles. “So she likes you back.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Enjolras automatically denies, like he’s gotten too used to that being his standard response. “We’ve been doing it since we were kids. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for us to share a bed.” They reach the car and he unlocks it, and just before he steps inside after opening the door to the driver’s seat, he looks back at the airport terminal and sighs. “I miss her already.”

“I’m sure she does too. And she’ll call you when she lands, won’t she?” Feuilly gets into the passenger seat, saying softly, “You two always do that.”

* * *

On the whole flight back, Éponine stares out the window at the endless sea of white fluff, the blue skies reminding her too much of Enjolras’ eyes. She already misses him terribly, and it hasn’t even been an hour since she said goodbye to him at the airport. As she gazes aimlessly out the little window, listening to The 1975 and fiddling inattentively with her locket, she thinks back to a few days ago, just the day after his birthday. When they got high on pot brownies, and she just had to add tequila into the mix. And she tried to kiss him.

God, what the fuck got _into_ her then?

Was she really so crossfaded and out of it that she actually attempted to kiss him? She can’t imagine what could have possibly given her the sudden, insatiable urge to do so. She’s never kissed him before anyway. Maybe that’s it. She just wanted to know what it would be like. Yes, of course that’s it. Nothing else. Grantaire would say that the only thing their intoxicated selves do is act on preexisting feelings that their sober selves would be too afraid to pursue. But Grantaire has a tendency to talk shit and he’s proven that he can be a dumbass quite a lot of the time, so she’ll take his words with a pinch of salt.

When she lands in New York, Grantaire is the only one there to pick her up, with how it’s eleven at night and most people would be in bed by now. She’s just gotten off the phone after calling Enjolras once she landed, now stowing her phone away in the pocket of her sweatpants as she walks briskly towards Grantaire, dragging her suitcase behind her, duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Grantaire grins and so graciously takes her duffel bag from her after he wraps her up in a hug in greeting. “So how was your week with _your Gabriel_?” he questions on their way to the parking lot, wiggling his eyebrows.

Éponine rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against his, huffing out a little laugh. “It was just _fabulous_ , thanks for asking. We baked pot brownies. You know, you should move to Cali, it’s a stoner’s paradise there.”

“Haha, very funny.” He snorts and gives her a look. “You’re annoying.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, blowing him a raspberry. “Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black. Anyway, I miss him. A lot.”

Grantaire furrows his brow at that. “Really? Already? It hasn’t even been twelve hours.”

She just rolls her eyes and elbows him in the side, laughing wryly under her breath. “Oh, fuck off.”

Narrowing his eyes, he tries to discern the look on her face, giving up moments later. He doesn’t remark on it aloud, but he’s noticed that for as long as he’s known the two of them, _especially_ in the past two years or so, Éponine’s missed Enjolras whenever he isn’t around way, _way_ more than best friends probably should. He’s noted that it goes the other way around as well. But he says nothing as they get into the car after stuffing her luggage in the trunk, Éponine seeming to trust him with her life for once, with how she lets him drive.

She grabs the aux cord before he can do anything about it and puts a random Spotify playlist on shuffle. It turns out to be a playlist Enjolras made for her sometime ago, full of songs that he says reminds him of her. She remembers the warm fuzzy feeling she got in her chest when he first sent it to her. She still gets that warm fuzzy feeling whenever she listens to it again. It brings back fond memories of sharing earbuds with him to listen to music on his iPod when they were kids.

As she stares out the car window at the lights of the city zooming by in a blur, rubbing the moon tattooed on her inner wrist, she wonders what Enjolras is up to right now in California. She wishes he were here right now. He promised he’ll move back once he graduates, apply to law schools in New York. He says they’ll find an apartment and move in together. Maybe she can find a way to get custody of Gavroche and have him live with them for a while, until he goes to college, at least. She can’t wait. The distance between them can go fuck itself. She can’t wait to have Enjolras living in the same city, in the same _apartment_ , as her.

She thinks back to the day they got stoned on pot brownies, and she got crossfaded after two glasses of tequila. And her attempt to kiss him, only to be rebuffed, albeit gently. She doesn’t even know why she tried to do that in the first place. He’s her best friend and she wants him to be by her side forever and ever, but that’s only natural because they’re best friends.

But one day they’ll grow up, _really_ grow up, to the point of quite possibly meeting other people and getting married to those other people and having children, if they want to, with those other people. She doesn’t know why the thought of it stings so keenly. It’s selfish, she knows, but she wants him with her forever and she doesn’t know _why_.

Actually, when she thinks about it, when she really, truly takes the time to think about it, she _does_ know why she wants—

Éponine gasps and sits up ramrod straight, as if she’s been electrocuted. “Holy _fuck_ I’m in love with Gabriel.”

Grantaire nearly runs a red light at her abrupt exclamation.

He slams on the brakes and they come screeching to a stop mere feet away from the pedestrians crossing the street, and he just stares at her for several long moments. He thinks she might me the most _oblivious_ fucking person he’s ever known as he snarks, “Congrats on officially being the last person to know.”

She looks at him incredulously, mouth agape, eyes wide, eyebrows knit, staring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you _serious_? It’s all I’ve been telling you for the past, what, _nine_ years now,” he huffs as he starts driving again the moment the light turns green. “You’re majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with Gabe.” He glances sideways at her for a split second, and his mouth slowly casts into a slight grin, blue eyes softening as he grows more sincere. “And he’s majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with _you_.”

Éponine’s heart skips a beat. Is he, really? She realises now that she can think of numerous times over the years when she caught him staring at her a bit, in a funny way, a look she’s never seen before when he looks at other people. Like he’s happy and scared all at once. How come she’s never really noticed that before? Should she be reading too much into those looks?

But maybe if she does, she’d just be looking for things that aren’t there, or seeing things simply because it’s what she wants to see. Her heart sinks at the memory. How just a few days ago, against their better judgment, they got high on pot brownies. The day she decided it would be a good idea to combine weed and alcohol. And when she made the mistake of trying to kiss him… oh, _God_ …

She deflates slightly in her seat, face falling. “No, he isn’t,” she mumbles. “He can’t be.”

Grantaire frowns. “Well, why the fuck not?”

“So, um.” Éponine’s cheeks burn. She’s glad for the dark. “You know, a few days ago. I, uh. I _may_ or may not have tried to kiss him.” She looks down into her lap. “And he pushed me away.”

Grantaire wrinkles his nose and juts out his bottom lip, flummoxed. “That makes no sense. It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain that he’s into you.”

“No, it makes perfect sense, because he’s not,” Éponine says, slumping down in her seat. “He can’t be, R. I know him better than anyone. I think I might know him better than I know myself. And nothing he’s done indicates that he has anything other than platonic feelings for me. So no. There’s no way he’s ‘majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love’ with me.” She laughs a little sardonically. “Well, at least now that that’s sorted out, I can figure out how to get over him and move on. The sooner, the better, right?”

Grantaire frowns. He’s witnessed her fleeting crushes over the course of the past nine years. Some escalated, others did not. But sooner or later, she always managed to move on. Then again, she hadn’t known those other crushes for nearly her entire life.

He steals a sidelong glance at her as they come to a stop in front of her apartment building, but he holds his tongue. Something tells him this isn’t going to be another of her crushes that she can so easily get over.


	14. a maid of honour and a bridesman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little over halfway through their senior year of college, Cosette and Marius tie the knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is even longer than the last. 11k. oops. :')
> 
> content warning for references to animal death

* * *

In the summer before their senior year of college, Cosette and Marius return from an oh so romantic trip to Paris and everyone else promptly freaks out when the giddy couple so kindly inform them that they’re now engaged.

“But we’re not old enough to get married…” Éponine’s words are drowned out by Bahorel’s interjection.

“I can’t believe y’all are having the wedding in _February_ , are you _insane_?” he exclaims, earning himself several dirty looks from the other patrons of the Café Musain. “We’ll still be in _school_ by then!”

“The sixteenth is on a weekend!” Marius says defensively, his freckled face flushed scarlet. It complements his auburn hair rather nicely, Éponine wryly thinks. “And it was the earliest date available.”

“Did you _have_ to go for the earliest?” Joly frets, rubbing his temple. “I get that you two want to be married as soon as possible, and I’m happy for you, I am! But I’ll probably be sick from studying for midterms.”

Bossuet laughs and ruffles Joly’s hair, kissing his cheek. “Dude, you think you’ll get sick from everything.”

Cosette blushes pink, a little sheepish. “We already booked the venue a while ago. Postponing it would be a hassle.”

“You know what _is_ a hassle? Planning and having a wedding in the middle of your senior fuckin’ year of college,” Grantaire gripes.

“Hope you’ve got one hell of a wedding planner hired!” Courfeyrac quips, smirking at a red-faced Marius.

Combeferre shoots them both an exasperated look, silently scolding them before he composes himself and returns his attention to the oh so happy couple with a smile. “Well, congratulations, you two! Anything we can do to help?”

Éponine eyes Cosette’s engagement ring, that big shiny rock on her finger, all peach sapphire and rose gold and pavé diamonds, for a few moments, but she doesn’t pay much heed to the rest of their little get-together, too taken aback by the news of Cosette and Marius’ engagement and impending wedding in _February_. That’s _eight_ months from now. Occasionally, she steals a glance at Enjolras beside her, seeing how he’s taking the news. He seems just as shocked as she is. Although maybe it isn’t so much their relatively young age as it is the impracticality of getting married, big white wedding and all, in the middle of their senior year of college.

Later that day, after the initial shock of Cosette and Marius’ engagement has died down a bit, they sit out on her fire escape, watching the sunset and passing a bottle of dessert wine back and forth between themselves, still processing the news. Éponine lets out a low whistle before taking a swig of wine, gulping it down and handing the bottle back to Enjolras. “Wow. Can you believe our little Coco’s getting _married_? Feels like just yesterday we were in elementary school having doll tea parties with her and Adrien and Julien.”

“I know,” Enjolras says, shaking his head in two parts disbelief, one part amazement. “Where has all the time gone?”

Éponine gazes at him, biting her lip slightly, as he takes a small sip of wine before carefully setting the bottle down on the wrought-iron, oblivious to her gaze. The sunset glow catches in his golden hair, makes his blue eyes sparkle. God, he’s got such a nice profile. The fading daylight highlights his angular jaw, draws attention to the dimple in his chin, illuminates his handsome features, casts shadows along his fair skin. He really is gorgeous. She wonders why it’s taken her so long to notice that, _really_ notice it.

Jesus. Look at her. Here she is, hopelessly longing, pining, _yearning_ for her best friend of sixteen years, and he doesn’t even feel the same way.

“I still think we’re too young to get married,” she remarks as she takes the bottle. “We’re only twenty-one, we’ve got our entire lives ahead of us.”

“Cosette’s known Marius since we were sixteen,” Enjolras points out. “And they’ve been together for most of the five years they’ve known each other.”

Éponine takes a swig of wine and sighs, a little wistful. “Yeah. High school sweethearts. Imagine that.” There’s something rather romantic about it, about being so sure of their love for each other at the tender age of twenty-one that they feel as if they’re ready to dive right into marriage. Not that she would ever say so out loud.

“Would you ever get married?” she asks, spurred on by a random burst of boldness, gone as quick as it came. When she realises what she just blurted out, her cheeks flame. She hopes he doesn’t notice it.

“What?” He laughs a little, sounding out of breath for some reason. “I’ve never even been in a relationship.”

 _Yeah, what the hell is up with that?_ “Assuming you do get into a relationship someday,” she amends, her stomach tightening a little at the thought of it. For fuck’s sake, his hypothetical partner is purely _hypothetical_ and she’s already jealous of whoever they may be. Lord help her. “I mean, you probably will. You’re a total catch. Anyway,” she quickly goes on, to distract from the fact that she just complimented him without any hint of irony, “would you ever get married?”

Enjolras considers it for several long moments, contemplating his words carefully. Truth is, he can’t see himself with anyone other than Éponine. It’s a bit of a problem, considering how she probably doesn’t feel the same way. “I’m not sure,” he says at last. “It depends on whom it is, I suppose. It has to be someone I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.”

Éponine grins, nudging him with her knee. “Well, duh. Why the fuck would you get married if you don’t feel that way?”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair rather absently. “You’d be surprised. I have plenty of relatives who rushed into marriage. Things didn’t work out between them and their spouses most of the time.”

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “How tragic.” She gets to her feet, already putting one foot through the open window to grab her things. “Okay, I’m sick of all the wedding talk. Let’s go to your place and play some Mario Kart.”

* * *

A month passes by, July bleeding into August. Three days before he’s set to fly back to California for his final year at Stanford, Éponine comes bounding into his parents’ penthouse, barging into his bedroom and taking a running start before she flings herself onto his bed, nearly crushing him with how she lands right on top of him.

“Guess what!” she yells out.

Enjolras groans under the weight, shoving her off of him and laughing. “What?”

Éponine holds up a card Cosette gave her earlier that morning when they went out for coffee together for Enjolras to read. He’s barely read the cover when she hollers in his ear, “I’m maid of honour!”

He snorts at how the front of the card says, “Act surprised like you had no idea this was coming,” before opening it to see a grainy photograph of Cosette and Éponine from when they were eight, taken during the summer his parents let him invite them and Combeferre and Courfeyrac to their oceanfront beach house in the Hamptons, printed on the inside of the card. The two of them are on the steps leading to the beach with their arms around each other, grinning at the camera and showing off a few gaps in their teeth, holding cones of melting ice cream in their free hands. Below the photograph, Cosette’s scribbled in her pretty cursive handwriting, _Panini, I can’t say you’re actually made of honour, but would you be my maid of honour? Lots of love, Coco._ She’s outlined a little heart next to “Coco”.

Enjolras pretends to frown as he inspects the card. “She asked me to be her bridesman in a _text_.”

Éponine cackles and takes the card back, grinning as she gazes at it. “I’m special and you’re not.”

He shoves her and she just laughs even harder and shoves him back, initiating some sort of odd little wrestling match between them. She howls with laughter as he kicks at her, kicking him right back, smacking one another, trying to push each other off and failing in doing so, until he’s pinned under her and she hovers above him in quite the compromising position, her locket dangling in his face, gripping his wrists, her left hand covering his tattoo. Her breath catches.

She thinks his face turns rather red but she isn’t sure, only focused on how her own cheeks burn, her breathing having gone shallow as she gazes down at him, pinned under her, their faces mere inches from one another. She’s practically _straddling_ him. Is it just her, or has he stopped breathing below her?

“Gabriel, I baked some brownies, I was wondering if you and Éponine would like to share—” Lucie opens the door and Enjolras yelps at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Mom!” He shoves Éponine off of him and she lands on the mattress with an “oomph” as he sits bolt upright, blushing fiercely. Lucie’s eyes widen at the realisation that she’s walked in at an inopportune moment, and she slowly backs out of the room, mouthing an apology to him and quietly closing the door behind her. Éponine heaves a sigh and sprawls out on the bed.

“I think that incident with those pot brownies last year officially turned me off when it comes to brownies in general forever,” she says wryly, looking up at him. She’s learned that acting like what just happened never happened is the best way to avoid the agonising awkwardness. “You know Coco wanted Adrien as a bridesman but Marius got to him first? So now he’s best man.” She snorts. “He’s going to be _terrible_.”

“Hey, have some more faith in him,” Enjolras defends. “He’s a good friend.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Éponine says, grinning up at him. “I’m just saying that sometimes his idea of partying goes way too far. Whatever he has planned for the bachelor party is probably going to end up giving Marius a heart attack.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath. “Alright, you have a point there.”

She sighs and laughs, just lying there and looking up at him. It’s a rather unflattering angle, but somehow he still looks good. Not fair. After a while, he seems to feel her gaze on him and looks down at her, and she quickly looks away, pretending like she wasn’t just staring at him in the most embarrassingly intense manner just now. He clears his throat, asking, “So who else is in the wedding party?”

“Me, you, Julien, Chetta, Jehan, Joseph, and my siblings are on Coco’s side,” Éponine dutifully recites. “All the others are on Marius’ side, except R is the flower boy. Coco wants us in purple. Marius’ side are going to be in dark green while Marius himself is going to be in blue.” She stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, giggling in wonderment. “I’ve never been part of a wedding before. Hell, I’ve never even _been_ to a wedding.”

“Really?” Enjolras looks back at her, surprised. He’s been to his fair share of weddings before. There are photographs of his four-year-old self acting as ring bearer at his cousin’s wedding, even if he himself doesn’t actually remember it.

She snorts, shaking her head. “Nope. My parents suck, so they never really got invited to shit. So this’ll be a first.” After a pause, she remarks rather incredulously, “Can you _believe_ they’re having the wedding at the fucking Rainbow Room? Just _how_ loaded is Marius’ gramps?”

He shrugs and falls back onto the bed, lying beside her. “His family is quite wealthy, from what I’ve heard. They come from old money.”

She watches how his face contorts into something of a grimace, rather disdainful. He’s never been Marius’ grandfather’s biggest fan. It probably has something to do with Mr. Gillenormand’s elitist, highly conservative views and Republican leanings. During those times back in high school when Marius begged them to come to his grandfather’s various soirées so he wouldn’t be completely alone among nosy, narrow-minded seniors, it was all they could do to force Enjolras into remaining civil among Mr. Gillenormand’s guests. It mostly consisted of keeping him from talking to any of them in the first place lest he lose his temper upon hearing someone spouting something blatantly bigoted and end up putting his foot in it.

She snorts again. “Enough to afford a wedding at Rockefeller Centre, clearly.”

Rolling onto her side, she looks intently at him. “You’re coming home for fall break, right? Coco says she’s planning on going dress shopping during the break, and Marius is going to look for a suit. They say we can come and help them pick out dresses and suits for us.” She fixes him with an intense stare, a purposeful one this time. “So you better come home for the break.”

He turns onto his side as well so they would be lying face to face on his bed, giving her a little smile. “I never said I wasn’t going to.” He pauses. “Is Marc invited, or should I bring him as my plus one?”

“He’s on our group chat. He was _there_ when Coco and Marius announced their engagement. Of course he’s invited.” She snorts and rolls her eyes, like it should be obvious already. “Coco showed me the guest list. You will not _believe_ the amount of cousins Marius has.”

He laughs softly. “Fast work. In making the guest list, I mean.”

Éponine rolls over to lie on her stomach, her eyes meeting his and a little smile gracing her face. “We’ll have a blast.”

Enjolras laughs. “I don’t envy how they only have seven months left to plan a wedding, though.”

“We’ll have a blast watching Marius having a breakdown when he realises how they made a mistake when they chose the earliest possible date for the wedding.”

“You are evil, Éponine Thénardier.”

She huffs and swats at his arm. He only grins in return.

* * *

The next several months practically breeze by, Éponine and Enjolras helping out as best as they can with the wedding planning. Going with Cosette to help her pick out her wedding dress, witnessing Marius having freakouts over the most minor things such as flower arrangements, sitting through inane reruns of _Say Yes to the Dress_ with them just because. Enjolras helps proofread Éponine’s maid-of-honour speech and proceeds to make several tweaks to it, saying that _you can’t talk about how they lost their virginities to each other on the night of junior prom, Jesus_ Christ _, Nina, I know Fantine is more open-minded than most parents, but Marius’_ grandfather _is going to be there and you_ know _how he is, and so is Cosette’s sort-of stepfather, what is_ wrong _with you, and how the hell do you even know about that anyway?_

So for the most part, things run smoothly.

Until winter break comes along and Courfeyrac’s childhood dog Obi-Wan Kenobi dies.

Honestly, it’s a wonder the little thing hasn’t kicked the bucket before this point—Courfeyrac got him when he was seven years old, Obi-Wan having been a puppy at the time. But obviously none of them are going to say that to Courfeyrac’s face, not when he can’t go an hour without spontaneously bursting into noisy sobs about his beloved little dog’s death, even after the elaborate funeral held in the backyard of his parents’ new house on Long Island has come to an end. He’s clearly upset. They won’t get in the way of that. But _honestly_ , Cosette and Marius’ wedding is less than _two months_ away and Courfeyrac is _best man_ , and he’s not going to get shit done if he continues to excessively mope around like he’s doing right now.

So Cosette throws all caution to the wind and suggests a karaoke night.

It’s high time they all get the stress relief anyway, so they go ahead and rent out a room in a Midtown karaoke lounge and let loose. Although Éponine’s beginning to question whether this was really the best idea when she’s three drinks in and listening to Courfeyrac tearfully wailing out the words to “How to Save a Life” for what feels like the millionth time. Well, whatever helps him get through Obi-Wan’s passing, she supposes. She gulps down more alcohol.

They watch as Courfeyrac gradually gets even more drunk and incoherent and teary-eyed, to the point where Combeferre takes matters into his own hands and gets up on the platform to gently escort him off. He hands off the microphone to Jehan, who promptly launches into an almost painfully earnest rendition of “Stand by Me”, dedicating it to Cosette and Marius.

Éponine whistles appreciatively and slowly leans to the side to lay her head on Enjolras’ shoulder, nearly spilling her Long Island iced tea all over herself in the process. “Wow,” she murmurs. “They’re _good_.”

“Mhmm.” Enjolras hums his agreement and takes a sip of his gin, leaning his head back against hers.

As the night goes on and they progressively get more buzzed, Enjolras uses the alcohol to work up the courage to ask Éponine to sing what’s bound to be a terrible karaoke duet with him. He’s about to do it. Any second now. As _soon_ as Bossuet finishes howling out all seven minutes of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”. Oh, God, _finally_. Alright, now he’s going to ask her. He’ll just tap on her shoulder and—

“Hey, Ép! It’s our turn!” Grantaire appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabs Éponine’s hand, pulling her to her feet without giving her so much as a second to breathe. In her haste to get up, she accidentally spills a bit of her drink on Enjolras’ shirt, and she yelps and immediately turns back to him, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Oh, my _God_ , Gabe, I’m _so_ sorry, I—” She places the glass on one of the tables beside the sofa and grabs a handful of napkins, wiping at his shirt at random.

He laughs. Something about it sounds off. “Nina, it’s okay. Just go with R.”

Éponine scrunches up her face. “Are you sure?”

Enjolras laughs again, a little more genuine this time. “Go ahead.”

So that’s how he ends up watching Éponine and Grantaire making fools of themselves with their frankly terrible impressions of Taylor Swift and Brendon Urie, respectively, and he bursts out laughing at how they keep in the infamous “spelling is fun!” part of the bridge. And he’s sure he’s probably just imagining things, but he could swear she’s looking directly at him every time she sings the chorus. Or maybe he’s just wasted.

When she comes barrelling back into her spot beside him on the sofa, he pretends to scoff, informing her, “Your Taylor Swift impression needs work.”

She feigns a glare at him, retorting haughtily, “Let’s see _you_ try to do better, then.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Unless you’re too _chicken_ to do it.”

“Okay, then, _alright_.” He gets to his feet and places his drink on a table. She cackles as he mounts the platform, grabbing the microphone from a giggling Cosette. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this drunk before, not even when they skipped junior prom in exchange for a night out on the town and managed to get into a nightclub and had so many tequila slammers they were lucky they didn’t get alcohol poisoning. It’s a little bit funny. Pretty hilarious, actually, she thinks as he reaches the first chorus of “Shake It Off” and starts dancing like a lunatic. Wow, he really _is_ wasted. She _has_ to get this on camera.

He gets everyone else to rap the bridge for him as he dances and claps in time to the beat, pausing to throw his head back and run his fingers through his hair at the “and to the fella over there with the hella good hair” line, and _fuck_ , she’s kind of completely thrown off by how _good_ he looks doing that. It should be illegal to be that fucking hot.

Fantastic. So she’s reached that point where she finds Gabriel Alexandre Enjolras, her best friend of nearly seventeen damn years, _hot_. Granted, she’s gone and caught feelings for him, but _still_.

She wonders if she should invite him to duet with her, but over the course of the night, she can’t seem to fully work up the nerve to do so, even after two more drinks, and by the time she thinks she’s finally ready to ask him once Joly’s drunken, delightfully over-the-top rendition of “Waterloo” has come to an end, of course their night has to end there. She knows she shouldn’t, but she blames Grantaire anyway. He just _had_ to pass out when he did.

After another overly long, tearful speech in loving memory of Obi-Wan Kenobi the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel from Courfeyrac, hopefully the last one they’ll ever have to hear, they all go their separate ways. Enjolras remains just coherent enough to call Éponine and himself an Uber without much difficulty, the two of them falling into the back of a station wagon fifteen minutes later, all giggly and drunk. God, they’re _so_ fucking drunk. She’s not looking forward to the dreadful hangovers they’ll undoubtedly have tomorrow morning.

She thinks she falls asleep on his shoulder on the way back, her hand in his, but it feels like as soon as she’s drifted off, he’s waking her up again, apparently having reached his apartment building in the split second she was asleep. She whines petulantly as he coaxes her out of the car, giving the Uber driver a hefty tip for their troubles while she stands there on the pavement, bottom lip jutted out in a childish pout.

“I’m so _tired_ , Gabey,” she whines as they get into the elevator, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I wanna _sleep_.”

“You can… we can sleep when we get upstairs.” He yawns then, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth and blinking disorientedly. “Y’know,” he says as they watch the floor number change, words a little slurred, “you should—you should call your siblings. Or Gavroche, I guess,” he amends, remembering how Azelma lives in a dorm now. “Just let him know you’re fine. You’re at my place. Spend—spending the night.” He registers that that means Gavroche will be alone in his and Éponine and Azelma’s parents’ apartment that night, and guilt overtakes him. “Oh, shit. Actually… do you wanna go home? Or something? Make sure he’s okay?”

Éponine groans loud and long, turning her head to bury her face in his shoulder. “He’ll be just _fine_ ,” she mumbles. “I’ll make—I’ll make it up to ’im. At some point. He’s almost _fifteen_.” The elevator door slides open and they step out. “He can—he can handle himself for one night.”

Enjolras is very glad his parents are sound sleepers, with how Éponine keeps missing steps on their way upstairs to his bedroom and curses liberally each time she does. She’s not exactly quiet about it, either. He repeatedly keeps shushing her as he helps her up for the umpteenth time, contemplating whether or not he should just hoist her onto his back to give her a piggyback ride the rest of the way.

She’s giggling about something he said by the time they reach his room, keeping the lights off—the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows do a satisfactory enough job of illuminating his room. Éponine reaches out to lightly strum her guitar on its stand by his dresser before kicking off her shoes and falling flat on her face onto his bed. “Can I borrow some clothes?” she asks, her voice muffled by a pillow.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, albeit fondly, and goes to search for a pair of pyjama pants and a hoodie she can borrow, emerging from his closet with plaid pyjama pants and one of his Stanford hoodies, handing them off to Éponine. She subsequently gets up and stumbles to the bathroom, returning soon after wearing his clothes. He can’t help but smile at how big they look on her—she has to cuff the pyjama pants multiple times and his hoodie falls to her mid-thighs. Adorable. She proceeds to groan and falls into bed without another word.

“C’mon,” she mumbles to him, words slurred. “Sleep. Sleep or die.”

His eyebrows draw together, a trio of wrinkles forming between them. That doesn’t even make sense.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go back in time and kick my own ass for drinking all that booze,” she goes on, semi-coherent. She reaches out for him. “But first. We sleep.”

Well, he can’t object to sleep. Especially when he senses the beginning of a pounding headache due to the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed earlier. He climbs into bed next to her as she burrows under the covers, bringing the duvet all the way up to her chin.

“G’night, Gabey,” she murmurs, already half-asleep. “Love you.”

He buries his face in his pillow to hide a goofy smile. “Good night, Nina. Love you, too.”

* * *

“God, we’re late, we’re so fucking late,” Éponine mutters as she and Enjolras practically dash out of the bridal boutique, already donning their plum-purple bridesmaid dress and three-piece suit respectively under their long winter coats, Cosette’s wedding dress in tow. Éponine, being maid of honour, has been tasked with picking the dress up from the boutique, and Enjolras comes along because of course he does, they’re practically inseparable whenever they happen to be within fifty miles of each other.

“Don’t say that,” Enjolras says, taking the white garment bag containing Cosette’s dress from Éponine, with how it looks dangerously close to dragging along the pavement when she’s carrying it. “The wedding isn’t for another—” he pulls up his sleeve to steal a glance at his watch “—four hours. We still have plenty of time.”

“Do you know how fucking long it’ll take to get hair and makeup done?” Éponine huffs. Her breath comes out in a puff of white vapour before it rapidly dissipates. She stuffs her scarf into the collar of her coat. “ _Fuck_ , it’s cold.”

She’s got a bit of a headache; she can owe that to the three glasses of wine she had last night. Thank _God_ it isn’t a full-on hangover. She and Enjolras spent the previous night at his place getting tipsy on dessert wine and binge-watching wedding-themed romcoms. _27 Dresses_ , _Runaway Bride_ , _Mamma Mia!_ , the like.

Enjolras hails a cab for them, and once they’re inside, straightening out the garment bag across their laps, he raises his eyebrows at her as he points out, “Who was it again who stayed up past midnight bitching about how ‘Julia Roberts is literally evil in _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ ’? Although that Michael guy was an absolute ass as well.”

“She is,” Éponine immediately says. “And you’re right, he’s a total douchebag too. And also, you were under no obligation to stay up and listen to me, so…”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and laughs wryly. “Touché.”

Traffic isn’t too bad on their way to Rockefeller Centre, Éponine constantly readjusting her dress under her coat and muttering darkly to herself about how this fucking backless bra is making her anxiety levels skyrocket. Enjolras thinks she hums one of the ABBA tunes featured in _Mamma Mia!_ at some point. His suspicions are proven correct when she laughs breathlessly and lays her head on his shoulder, commenting, “You know _Mamma Mia!_ is Cosette and Fantine’s favourite movie?”

He laughs quietly, leaning his head back against hers. Her hair isn’t done up yet, it’s fine. “I’m not surprised.”

“You ever think about how weird it is that we call Fantine by her first name now?” she goes on with a snort. “Took me, what, twelve damn years to get used to it. And even now I’m still not _completely_ used to it.” She remembers how she kept calling Fantine “Miss Fantine” out of habit all the way up until their senior year. She still has to stop herself from calling her that sometimes even now, two months away from twenty-two.

He chuckles. “It feels a little odd sometimes, yeah. When we were children, I always thought she was older than she is.”

She elbows him in the ribs, wrinkling her nose at him. “That’s _rude_ , Gabe.”

He immediately goes on the defensive, saying, “I was _five_. In my defence, twenty-five-year-olds seem very grown up when you’re five.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing. “I mean, I _guess_.”

When they get to Rockefeller Centre, Cosette, Fantine, Combeferre, Jehan, and Fantine’s close friend and Cosette’s kind of, sort of, basically stepfather Jean Valjean are already there, Cosette anxiously waiting in her dressing room for the others to arrive while Fantine sits beside her, holding her hand and talking to her in soothing tones, seeming to try and talk her down from her pre-wedding jitters. Combeferre’s gone to check on how Marius and Courfeyrac are holding up by the time Éponine and Enjolras get upstairs, Jehan greeting them outside the dressing room before ushering them inside.

“Are Azelma and Gavroche not here yet?” Éponine questions on their way in. She texted them earlier that morning, telling them to go without her, with how she had to pick up Cosette’s dress first.

“Panini!” Cosette squeals and jumps up out of her seat in front of the vanity, barrelling towards her in just her robe and knocking the breath out of Éponine’s lungs in a hug. “And to answer your question, Gavroche just texted me; he said they’re a few subway stops away, they’ll be here in twenty minutes, give or take.” She looks at the garment bag in Enjolras’ arms and beams. “Oh, thank you so much for picking it up!”

Enjolras smiles back at her as he hands her the bag. “It was no problem.”

“Fantine!” Éponine moves to embrace her next, admiring her navy-blue chiffon dress. Short flutter sleeves, scoop neck, empire waist, flowing skirt. It suits her. “You look fantastic!”

“Aww, thank you!” Fantine laughs, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear rather self-consciously. Her golden locks hang loose around her shoulders for the most part; she seems to have gone for a simple half-updo. “I was a little worried it would look too ‘young’ on me, if that makes any sense.”

“Oh, nonsense, you don’t look a day over thirty,” Éponine quips, taking off her scarf.

“Mom, it looks perfect,” Cosette says, leaning around Fantine from behind to kiss her cheek. “Now, can you help me with my dress, please?”

Fantine’s all too eager to do so, murmuring as she and Cosette head off to the mirror in the corner, “My baby girl’s getting married…”

Éponine pulls off her coat and dumps it along with her scarf on a vacant chair by the door, Enjolras actually putting his own up on the coat hanger available and giving her a look. She just sticks her tongue out at him and sits down on a plush sofa near the vanity, kicking off her boots to put on her kitten heels. “So now what?”

Enjolras places his hands in his pockets and shrugs, leaning back against the wall. “Now we wait for the others, I suppose.”

Over the course of the next hour, everyone else arrives, and once Musichetta and Azelma get there, Cosette wastes no time in getting the hair and makeup artists to work their magic on them. Enjolras idly stands by and watches the process (read: mostly Éponine), torn between amazement and slight disbelief at just how long it takes for them to get ready. After what feels like hours and hours—in reality it’s only about forty-five minutes, give or take—Éponine finally gets up from her seat, stretching out her arms and back and groaning.

“My neck hurts,” she complains. “It’s not fair that I have to spend this much time getting ready while _you_ just get to run a comb through your hair and cover up some zits if you have them, which you don’t, and that’s it.”

Enjolras laughs softly. “You look beautiful,” he tells her. “If that’s any consolation.”

Éponine places a hand on her hip and raises her eyebrows at him. “Are you saying I usually don’t? Because it sure sounds like that’s what you’re implying.”

His face burns scarlet. “I—um—well, I mean—that’s not what I—”

The offended look on her face softens and she laughs out loud, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Relax, Gabe. I was just fucking with you.”

He lets out a nervous laugh, releasing a bit of the tension in his shoulders. “You really do look beautiful,” he says again, lowering his voice into a murmur.

She smiles at him, a true, genuine smile, not one of her lazy grins or impish smirks for once. Something flutters in her stomach. _Get a hold of yourself, Éponine. Jesus._ “You don’t look half-bad yourself.” _Understatement of the century._

She drags him in front of the floor-length mirror to really get a proper look at themselves, dressed in plum purple. Her dress is made of a flowy chiffon material, boasting a V-neck and cowled back (hence the backless bra she’s been incessantly complaining about), her hair done up in a complicated-looking braided chignon, loose strands of brown hair framing her face. His three-piece suit fits so well after being tailored to fit him, it looks like it had been sewn on him, with a navy-blue tie and crimson pocket square. Éponine can’t resist a quick glance at his ass. It looks _fantastic_ in those tailored pants. They admire themselves in the mirror for a few moments longer before she turns to face him.

The first thing she notices is how his tie is rather crooked, his collar slightly askew, so she steps closer to reach up and fix them for him, straightening them out. Her hands linger on his collar, her breath catching as she slowly drags her eyes up to meet his, only realising now how close together they’re standing, barely any room to breathe between them. She might just be imagining things, but she thinks his breathing goes rather shallow as he gazes into her eyes, neither of them saying anything. What the hell happened to the air in this place?

“You look nice,” she mumbles, mustering a smile.

He manages a smile back at her as he breathes out in reply, “Thank you.”

They don’t know how long they stay like that until the sound of Azelma’s voice snaps them out of their trance. “You two lovebirds done over there?”

Éponine and Enjolras jump apart, fierce blushes on both their faces, and she glares at Azelma, who just smirks and gives her a sarcastic thumbs-up. Cosette skids over to Éponine’s side, beaming, although she’s got a nervous air about her. It doesn’t really come as a surprise. She is, after all, making one of the most important decisions she’s ever going to make in her life. There’s bound to be some pressure.

“Éponine,” Cosette murmurs, “do I look okay?”

Éponine slowly looks Cosette up and down, taking it all in. Her golden hair is done up in an updo of loose, voluminous curls with two strands framing her face, secured by a crystal floral hairpiece, and her immaculately done makeup places emphasis on her big blue eyes and full lips. Diamonds dangle from her ears and around her neck, a gauzy fingertip-length veil having been pinned under her updo. The elegant ivory ball gown is greatly flattering to her figure, with its strapless sweetheart neckline, pleated bodice, beaded lace appliqués, and the faintest pink undertones in the full, flowing skirt made of layers upon layers of tulle that tapers off into an exquisite chapel train. The toes of her kitten heels poke out from underneath the hem of her dress.

“You look perfect, Coco,” Éponine tells her softly. “You’re getting married!”

Cosette laughs, and there are happy tears in her eyes. “I’m getting married!”

Fantine wipes at her eyes and smiles, holding out her arm for Cosette to take. “Come on, it’s about to start.”

Éponine takes that as her cue to head out, Enjolras close behind her, all the others already gathered outside and waiting for their cue. The procession has already started, Mr. Valjean having entered first as father of the bride, Marius already up there at the altar with Courfeyrac. On Cosette’s side, Enjolras can spot Feuilly sitting near the front; the two of them had flown in together two days before for the wedding. Grantaire is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as the others enter one by one, his tiny basket covered in lace and frills and full of flower petals in hand, a stupid grin on his face. Green looks good on him.

“I have petals in my pockets, too,” he whispers conspiratorially to Éponine when she reaches him. “Gonna toss them out when I get to the front.”

At that, Éponine snorts out a laugh, and Enjolras claps a hand over her mouth to keep her from distracting from the processional. Almost as quickly, he pulls his hand away before she can lick his palm. She’s been in the habit of doing that whenever he puts a hand over her mouth to shut her up ever since they were kids. She seems to realise why he pulled his hand away so quickly and sticks her tongue out at him with a shit-eating grin. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head and smiling.

“Classy,” he comments.

She punches him in the arm, wrinkling her nose at him. “Oh, shut up.”

Marius’ side have all made their way down the aisle at this point, and Gavroche is the first on Cosette’s side to go, Azelma following not long after. As Musichetta is preparing to walk down, Éponine turns her head to look up at Enjolras, giving him a tiny grin and reaching out to playfully slap his ass. “Well, this is it. See you on the other side.”

He quickly recovers from the initial surprise of her just randomly smacking his ass and chuckles softly, an affectionate look in his blue eyes as he gazes back at her. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

* * *

The ceremony is beautiful. Éponine thinks she best liked the part where Fantine walked Cosette down the aisle. The part where Marius was crying so hard, he was barely able to say “I do” comes as a close second.

Even now as she’s watching Cosette and Marius dancing right there in the centre of the ballroom, around and around and around, Éponine still finds it rather hard to believe that two of her friends are actually _married_ now, that they’re _really_ growing up, and soon they’ll graduate from college and try to find their place in the world. She moves her chair closer to Enjolras’ and leans her head on his shoulder, the two of them having been seated next to each other at their table because of course they are. She thinks she senses his breath hitch, but no, she’s probably just imagining things again. Her left hand finds his right under the table, lacing her fingers through his. She’s always loved how their tattoos line up when they do that. They watch the giddy newlyweds, watch how they seem to be lost in their own world as they dance their first dance to a gentle guitar tune. Something, something, “first day of my life”. Or something like that.

“They’re so cute,” Éponine comments under her breath, her free hand toying with her locket. In spite of the suggestions of the hair-and-makeup artist who had worked on her look, she kept it on. She almost always keeps it on. “It’s disgusting.”

Enjolras chuckles and squeezes her hand. “They look so happy together.”

She smiles. “I’m happy for them. Even though sometimes I still think Coco can do better.”

He rolls his eyes and lightly elbows her in the ribs. “Don’t be rude, Nina. It’s their wedding day.”

After that first dance, Cosette and Marius make their way over to the head table and make a welcome speech together, thanking them all for coming and waxing poetic about how much they love each other. If Éponine didn’t like them so much, she would, quite frankly, find their unabashed, public declarations of love for each other rather nauseating. She’s sorry to say she’s rather distracted throughout the whole ordeal, not really paying full attention to their speech despite Enjolras repeatedly trying to bring her back to earth, but on the bright side, it seems to make the food come quicker, with how she really only snaps out of her daze when Cosette beams and calls out, “Let’s eat!”

The food is brought out, and almost as soon as her plate is in front of her, Éponine starts digging into her mac and cheese, roast chicken, and mashed potatoes with gusto, alarming Enjolras somewhat with how fast she’s eating. At some point, she notices how he’s staring at her, aghast, while she’s eating, and she gives him a weird look. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“If you eat any faster, you might choke,” he tells her, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. “And you still have your maid-of-honour speech to make.”

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot about that!” She very unceremoniously wipes off the gravy dribbling down her chin with the back of her hand before she wipes that clean with a napkin, looking to see Courfeyrac being handed a microphone by the emcee, a redhead who Éponine assumes is one of Marius’ numerous cousins, and getting to his feet just a table away.

“You’re next,” Grantaire oh so helpfully supplies, leaning over the table a bit to shoot Éponine a grin.

She rolls her eyes and downs her flute of champagne. “I’m aware.”

Courfeyrac starts off by mentioning how he’s known Cosette for much longer than he’s known Marius, but because he’s been asked to be best man, his speech isn’t about Cosette, it’s about embarrassing Marius, which garners a few laughs from the guests. He then launches into this long-winded spiel about how he first took Marius under his wing when he met him back at the start-of-the-year assembly in junior year of high school, gangly and awkward, lost and alone, grieving his recently deceased father. For some reason, he decided to latch onto Courfeyrac, and they’ve seen each other through some shit ever since. Particularly meeting Cosette and immediately deciding that she’s _the one_.

For a speech that seems to go out of its way to make Marius the butt of the joke at every given opportunity, it’s surprisingly heartfelt, and Marius, ever the softie, is crying by the end of it as they all burst into applause. Courfeyrac grins impishly and exaggerates a bow before plopping back down into his seat beside Combeferre. And then the microphone is passed on to Éponine.

Enjolras gives her hand one last squeeze before letting go as she gets to her feet, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on her—Jesus, how the fuck do Cosette and Marius even know this many people? “Um…” She looks to Enjolras for help, biting her lip. His eyebrows raise just slightly and he gives her a tiny nod. _Go on._

“Hi, everyone!” she starts, cringing a little at how shaky her voice is, how it seems to have gone up an octave. Taking a deep breath, she composes herself and goes on, introducing herself. “I’m Éponine. Cosette’s been one of my best friends ever since we met on the first day of first grade. I call her Coco; she calls me Panini.” She pauses and smiles, encouraged by the good-natured laughter from the guests. “She told me a few months ago that I would probably have to make a speech, so here it is! Because it really wouldn’t be fair if the best man gets to make a speech while the maid of honour doesn’t, would it?” More laughter. “So please bear with me. I’ll try to refrain from inappropriate anecdotes, but I can’t promise that I won’t swear, because as those who know me will tell you, I can’t go five sentences without slipping a ‘fuck’ in there somewhere.”

After Éponine’s made her speech—thankfully devoid of any references to post-junior prom virginity loss and practice kisses in the bathroom during the earlier years of high school, thanks to Enjolras’ innumerable alterations—she sits back down to watch Cosette lead Fantine out onto the dance floor, the two of them sharing a mother/daughter dance to “Slipping Through My Fingers”.

Éponine lays her head on Enjolras’ shoulder, sniffling a little at the sweet sight. He glances sideways at her, a fond, amused little smile playing at his lips. “Nina, are you crying?”

“ _No_ ,” she immediately denies, attempting to discreetly wipe her tears away. Watching Cosette and Fantine dance together just serves to painfully drive home the fact that her parents are nowhere near that loving, not towards her, not towards her siblings, not towards each other. She sucks in a deep breath and manages a rather strained smile. “I’ve got something in my eyes.”

He slides his arm around her and laughs softly. “Your speech was lovely.”

She looks up at him and grins for real, scrunching up her face. “Aww, thanks. But you should be taking the credit. You practically rewrote it for me.”

“No, I didn’t.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, bringing his champagne flute to his lips. “I just cut out the inappropriate parts. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, since you never really answered the first time I did—how _did_ you know about them losing their virginities to each other after junior prom?” He makes a bit of a face as he says the words, still rather unable to fathom it.

She notices the look on his face and nearly cackles at the sight. “Yeah, I know, Marius plus sex is a _horrifying_ thought. While we were getting absolutely shitfaced in some club, they were having awkward first-time sex. FYI, Coco told me all about it the morning after. My phone was blowing up with her texts when I woke up. I didn’t get to read them until after I puked my guts out, though.” She shakes her head and laughs. “They were highly entertaining. She seemed very happy. Whatever Marius’ faults may be, at least he’s capable of giving his lady an orgasm. Took him some time, but he got there eventually! According to Coco’s texts, at least. Also, apparently he cried the whole time. Honestly, it’s just like him to do that.”

Enjolras nearly chokes on his champagne at that little tidbit and Éponine bursts out laughing at his reaction, laughing uproariously at his violent, rather undignified spluttering as he presses a hand to his chest and tries to get his coughing under control. It earns them a few odd looks from some of Marius’ relatives a few tables over. She hides her face in his shoulder to muffle her giggles.

Soon after Cosette and Fantine’s dance together comes to an end, the bridal party is ushered out for one dance before the dance floor officially opens for all the guests. Éponine grabs Enjolras’ hand as the music starts, gasping in delight when she realises what song is playing. “Oh, this is one of my favourites!” she exclaims.

“Yes, I know,” he says, putting his arms around her waist as hers go around his neck, the two of them swaying together. His breath catches a little when she looks up to meet his eyes, raising her eyebrows. “I was the one who introduced you to this song.” He’s grown up listening to Madonna, with how his mother loves her.

She scrunches up her face and smiles. “So you were.”

_I see you through the smoky air  
_ _Can’t you feel the weight of my stare?  
_ _You’re so close but still a world away_

When the chorus hits, he spins her out before pulling her back in, wrapping his arms tight around her waist from behind and swaying to the music, her surprised laughter ringing out through the ballroom. He grins as she turns back around to face him, lightly punching him in the shoulder, gazing at him through sparkling brown eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices his parents watching them, smiles on their faces. He tries not to think about the implications of that.

The dance floor opens to all soon after, and Éponine and Enjolras take sporadic breaks from dancing to rush back to their table and down flutes of champagne, or in Éponine’s case, going with Cosette to the bathroom to hold her dress while she pees. They get rather tipsy on the bubbly, laughing as they spin each other around to that song from _Dirty Dancing_ and reminisce about all the time they spent in the pool on the terrace of his penthouse back during high school, trying to recreate the iconic lift. Their determination in doing so was admirable.

“Hey, Gabe,” Éponine yells over the pounding music as they’re jumping around to “Bad Romance” amidst the sea of sweaty bodies out there on the dance floor, “did you—did you know that Gaga once said this song’s about being in love with your best friend?”

Enjolras nearly trips and falls on his face. Why on _earth_ would she point that out? Quickly recovering, he manages to reply, “Did she—did she, really?”

“Yeah!” she confirms, cheeks burning. She’s beginning to have second thoughts about bringing up that little fun fact. Curse her absolute lack of self-control. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately?), he doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps on dancing. She can’t bite back her grin at the sight of him dancing. For someone who took ballroom dance for a decade, he’s horrendous at this kind of dancing. Which makes zero sense. All one has to do is jump around like an idiot.

It isn’t long until they’re announcing the bouquet toss, and Enjolras watches as Éponine’s dragged away from him and herded into a crowd of other currently single women while Cosette prepares to toss the bouquet. Peculiarly, he sees Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanging some words with Cosette beforehand, the three of them seeming to come to an agreement before the former two go to stand with Enjolras as Cosette scans the crowd gathered before her for a moment before she turns around, her back to them. Enjolras gives the pair an odd look when they return to him. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Combeferre assures him, clasping his hands together behind his back. Enjolras isn’t quite sure he believes him, what with the odd, knowing little smile he has on his face. He forces himself to return his gaze to Cosette, finding himself holding his breath.

“Three… two… _one_!”

For a moment there, he genuinely fears for Éponine’s life, with the minor scuffle that ensues as everyone rushes to catch the bouquet, but after about ten seconds, someone emerges victorious. To Enjolras’ utter surprise, it turns out that the one who caught the bouquet is Éponine herself.

Immediately, Courfeyrac starts coughing, wheezing, sounding as if he’s dangerously close to hacking up a lung as he constantly nudges and elbows Enjolras, giving him what he thinks are supposed to be meaningful looks, but he can’t be too sure. Enjolras’ eyebrows draw together as he stares at Courfeyrac in concern. He thinks he might be having a seizure.

“Are you… okay?” he asks, bemused.

Courfeyrac stops coughing and just glares at him, groaning loudly and grabbing his hand to drag him out there, the two of them standing with the other men who’ve gathered in anticipation of the garter toss. Enjolras watches, just a little more than slightly bewildered, as Courfeyrac darts up to Marius and animatedly tells him something Enjolras can’t hear from where he’s standing. Marius looks at the crowd and back at Courfeyrac and nods vigorously. Courfeyrac skips back over to Enjolras’ side, grinning up at him as Marius removes the garter from Cosette’s leg and gets ready to toss it.

It feels like it all happens in slow motion.

The entire time, he hopes that Marius might just happen to throw it in his direction, so he won’t have to lunge for it and have someone suspect that he only wants to catch it so he’d get to dance with Éponine. Never mind that they’ve been dancing almost exclusively with each other for as long as they’ve been out on the dance floor and most of the people here in attendance don’t know enough about him to know that he’s been harbouring feelings for his best friend since they were in high school anyway.

It’s kind of funny how so many of the clump of bachelors scramble for the garter. Try as he might, Enjolras can’t help but feel a little disappointed when he doesn’t manage to catch it, one of Marius’ cousins having done so instead.

As he walks back to his table, he can’t help but get the feeling that Courfeyrac is sulking a little, rather petulantly plopping down into his seat, arms crossed across his chest. Combeferre shoots Enjolras a look, one of those countless “Courfeyrac is in a mood again” looks they’ve exchanged in all the fourteen-and-a-half years they’ve known one another, and sits down beside Courfeyrac, rubbing his back consolingly. Although what on earth he’d have to be consoled about, Enjolras has absolutely no clue. He doesn’t seem like he would be _that_ torn up about not getting to dance with Éponine. At least, Enjolras doesn’t think he does.

The emcee shoves Marius’ cousin, whose name is apparently Théodule, and Éponine together, some Roxette song Enjolras can’t recall the name of playing as they gear up for what’s bound to be a rather awkward dance. He questions the DJ’s bizarre song choice (why choose what’s quite obviously a breakup song?) as he watches Éponine dance with that Théodule, appearing to try to spark conversation with him every now and then in the four-and-a-half minutes they’re out there on the dance floor together. On Théodule’s part, he seems to respond to her efforts at conversation, quite enthusiastically, actually. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, judging by the look of mild discomfort on Éponine’s face that she only ever has when people who are practically strangers get too friendly with her too soon all throughout and her subsequent relief when their dance is mercifully over.

As everyone goes back out onto the dance floor, Éponine trudges back to her table, grumbling a little to herself as she slumps down into her seat next to Enjolras. She takes off her heels to place them by the leg of her chair and props her right foot up on her left knee, rubbing it and groaning slightly. “Jesus…”

“Was it that bad?” Enjolras asks sympathetically, reaching out to rub her back.

“He’s not a terrible person, if that’s what you mean,” Éponine replies. “He was okay to talk to. Bit of a pompous ass, though.” She snorts and straightens back up, shakes her head to herself. “And he’s got two left feet. I got stepped on at least three times. Personally, I think having the poor fuckers who caught the bouquet and garter dance together is a bullshit tradition that should be banned for all time.”

Enjolras laughs, gazing at her, fond, amused. “Do you want a foot rub?”

Éponine gives him a _look_. Is he seriously offering to give her a foot rub in the middle of their friends’ wedding reception? She cracks a teasing grin and snorts again. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for the offer, though.”

They’re not the only people sitting down, by any means, but the people who’ve forgone letting loose on the dance floor in favour of remaining seated are few and far between. Éponine scooches closer to Enjolras, laying her head on his shoulder as they take sips of their champagne and watch everyone have the time of their lives out there, only now noticing how the dance floor revolves. Enjolras glimpses his parents there in the distance, slow dancing together, a little farther away from the other guests. His father has a huge, encouraging smile on his face, his mother’s eyes tired but sparkling, giggling and trying her best to keep up. Something in his chest aches at the sight.

Éponine looks up at him as she toys with her locket, noticing the rather wistful look in his eyes, and she lets go of her necklace to reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. It’s a small gesture, but he values it all the same.

Sometime later, that familiar first drum beat of “Shake It Off” rings out through the ballroom and everybody cheers, and Éponine laughs out loud, immediately rising to her bare feet. She grabs Enjolras’ hand and flashes him a shit-eating grin, no doubt remembering the night at that karaoke bar. “C’mon, Gabe, it’s your song!” she hollers over all the noise.

Enjolras rolls his eyes but lets her tug him to his feet anyway, allowing her to drag him out onto the dance floor. She whoops and starts dancing, and it’s so endearing, he can’t help the grin that breaks across his face as he dances along. Éponine seems to be a lot more uninhibited when dancing barefoot, without the threat of breaking her heel and spraining her ankle with a single misstep, waving her arms around and doing a whole variety of strange little jumps. Her dancing is atrocious, by all accounts. But Enjolras, even with several years’ worth of experience in ballroom dance, doesn’t think so.

She’s very clearly making fun of him as they dance together, dramatically mouthing the lyrics at him in her imitation of him. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and wonders just how accurate her impression of him is supposed to be. He personally thinks it’s terrible, but then again, he’d been pretty drunk on that karaoke night, resulting in a fuzzy memory. He’s pretty sure she caught it on video. He’ll have to ask her about that later before gently requesting that she delete it and wipe all traces of it off the face of the earth.

As the song hits the bridge, Éponine reaches out to grab him by the arm. “Hey, Gabe,” she calls out over the music.

Something warm and fuzzy erupts in Enjolras’ chest. “Yes, Nina?”

“You’re my—you’re my favourite person to dance with.” Her words are a little slurred, a sign that the alcohol is really starting to get to her, but he can hear the sincerity, the unabashed earnestness in her voice. She smiles at him then, a genuine, bright-eyed smile, and it’s kind of annoying how easily it turns his insides to goo.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles back before grabbing hold of her hands without warning and spinning her around, evoking a loud shriek of laughter from her, which makes him laugh as well as they spin around and around on that dance floor. It rather reminds him of prom, but even better somehow. So, sixty-five storeys above Rockefeller Centre, the city lights illuminating the night sky outside, they laugh together and dance the night away.

* * *

“Fucking hell! Look at them! I hate them! They’re _so annoying_!” Courfeyrac exclaims, banging his head repeatedly on the table for dramatic effect. Feuilly, thoroughly perplexed, keeps looking back and forth between Courfeyrac and the dance floor, specifically at Éponine and Enjolras dancing together, laughing together, having the time of their lives. Cosette rubs Courfeyrac’s back sympathetically, having stumbled back to the tables after tiring herself out dancing and Marius got dragged away by Jehan and a very plastered Grantaire, while Combeferre just rolls his eyes with a wry little smile on his lips, well used to Courfeyrac’s theatrics.

“What do you mean by that?” Feuilly questions.

Courfeyrac downs his fourth flute of champagne, a sour look on his face as he glares at Éponine and Enjolras. “They’re just annoying, that’s all.”

“He’s frustrated that they’re not married with children yet,” Combeferre drolly supplies. Courfeyrac turns his head to shoot him a glare, even though his words are only a slight exaggeration. “He’s been like this since we were in high school, it’s nothing new.”

“You know, I always thought they’d be together by now,” Cosette remarks thoughtfully as she directs her gaze to them, watching them dance to ABBA. “Probably not married, definitely not with children yet, but _together_ , at least.”

“Have they had feelings for each other for that long?” Feuilly asks, rather incredulous. He knows Enjolras and Éponine have known Cosette, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac since they were little, seven years old, having seen them in a few of the childhood photographs scattered across Enjolras’ cork board.

“Oh, God, no!” Cosette hastily amends. “It’s just that… they've had feelings for each other for a _while_ now. I think. I’m pretty sure. I think Panini kind of repressed it back when we were in high school and only really came to terms with it recently. But Gabriel’s always had a bit of a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He’s never actually _told_ us that he has feelings for her, at least not outright—he hates talking about his feelings, as you probably already know—but he didn’t need to. We caught on pretty quick.” She can’t help but smile at the way Enjolras turns pink when Éponine reaches up and ruffles his hair, a sparkly-eyed grin on her face, and he playfully pokes at one of her dimples in response. “It’s kind of adorable how transparent he is.”

Combeferre lets out a quiet laugh. “It’s always been rather obvious to me,” he comments, taking a sip of his champagne. “I don’t think he himself really realised it until near the end of high school, though. I’d say around the time of senior prom.”

Courfeyrac cracks a sardonic little grin. “We knew it before _he_ did. We knew it before they both did. They gotta get with the fuckin’ program.”

“Have they always been like this, then?” Feuilly questions, watching as Éponine boops Enjolras’ nose and proceeds to dissolve into hysterical laughter at the way he scrunches up his face.

“Not _always_ ,” Combeferre says.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac and Cosette say at the same time. Combeferre gives them both a look.

Feuilly stares at the three of them for several moments, dumbfounded, and then he laughs, his gaze slowly drifting back to Enjolras and Éponine out there on the dance floor, focused entirely on each other. “Well, I think we should just let them figure it out on their own,” he suggests. “Let them take their time.”

Courfeyrac stares at him, aghast at the very idea. “If we let them ‘take their time’, we’d be waiting _decades_!”

“Have we ever told you about how they got fake-married back when we were in the first grade?” Cosette tells Feuilly, a corner of her mouth quirking upwards conspiratorially.

Feuilly’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, rather startled. “Gabriel’s never mentioned that to me before,” he says.

Combeferre smiles rather wryly. “That’s because he and Éponine have completely forgotten about it.”

“But _we_ haven’t,” Courfeyrac adds with a smirk. “Julien was the best man and Cosette was the maid of honour. I officiated.”

“I wonder if there are any pictures lying around,” Cosette murmurs a little absent-mindedly, speaking to no one in particular. “I know his old nanny took pictures of it. I’m sure his parents have at least _some_ of them.”

“Why don’t we go ask them?” Courfeyrac suggests, glimpsing Lucie and Matthieu across the room, walking off the dance floor and back to their table, Matthieu helping Lucie along.

The four of them watch as Enjolras’ parents take their seats, engrossed in conversation with each other. Cosette purses her lips and shakes her head. “No. Let’s not bother them.”

Courfeyrac pouts and glowers a little as he slumps down in his seat, but he complies nonetheless. “Fine. We’ll just ask them some other time.”

They watch Éponine and Enjolras dance together, spinning in circles around the revolving dance floor and laughing while “Everlasting Love” plays over the speakers. Courfeyrac clicks his tongue and shakes his head in mock disdain. “I mean, _come on_. How the fuck have they not banged yet. They have _matching tattoos_ , for Chrissake.”

Combeferre furrows his eyebrows. “You know one of those things can occur without the other, right?”

Courfeyrac pulls a face at him. “You know what I mean!”

Feuilly laughs softly and takes a sip of his champagne, asking Cosette, “Why haven’t any of you three ever tried to remind them about their fake wedding in first grade?”

“Oh, they’d either go into shock or just flat-out not believe us,” she replies breezily, raising her champagne flute to her lips. “Honestly, I’m not sure how they _don’t_ remember it. I thought everyone remembers their first kiss.”

 _Huh._ Interesting. “Well, you guys _were_ seven at the time. It’s not unusual for people to forget things that happened when they were seven.”

“It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone,” Courfeyrac sings. Combeferre just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, lips twitching as he tries to hide a fond, exasperated smile.

Feuilly watches Enjolras and Éponine dance, sees that affectionate sparkle in his blue eyes and the unadulterated love in her dimpled smile, the pair of them oblivious to the four pairs of eyes on them, with how Cosette, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac watch them intently as well. Combeferre raises his champagne flute in a small toast.

“Here’s to our dear Cosette,” he pronounces. “May her and Marius’ marriage be a happy and everlasting one.”

Cosette beams as she raises her glass, as do Courfeyrac and Feuilly.

“And here’s to Éponine and Gabriel,” Courfeyrac adds a little obnoxiously. “Hopefully they get their shit together within the next decade and finally put an end to our _suffering_.”

Combeferre stares at him, eyebrows knit as he snorts. Feuilly bites his lip, stifling an amused smile. Cosette laughs out loud.

“I’ll drink to that,” she says, clinking her glass against the other three’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cosette's [engagement ring](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0011/3967/1084/products/il_fullxfull.2101800465_pbyo_2cf0333e-96b7-4033-bd97-e2145a5e19a3_1800x1800.jpg?v=1576832947) and [wedding dress](https://d2dipuj17jpsku.cloudfront.net/media/gallery/11094_FF.jpg), [éponine's dress](https://cdn.allurebridals.com/imager/styles/1455/27804/1455F_a87efb692e79826fef0df607e21e99ed.jpg), [enjolras' suit](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB18ZOmaJzvK1RkSnfoq6zMwVXa4/Thorndike-Custom-Made-Groomsmen-Notch-Lapel-Groom-Tuxedos-Purple-Men-Suits-Wedding-Prom-Best-Man-Blazer.jpg_640x640.jpg). oh, and [marisette's first dance song](https://youtu.be/nL-uzN_NEvA).
> 
> (also, upon rewatching the film, i only just recently noticed that cosette's wedding dress isn't white, it's pink lol)


	15. a graduation present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon graduating from college, Enjolras goes back to New York, and he and Éponine move in together.

* * *

Almost immediately after graduation, Enjolras moves all his things back to New York, and he and Éponine get the ball rolling on apartment hunting.

NYU’s commencement ceremonies occur almost an entire month prior to Stanford’s, so he flies back for a weekend to watch Éponine graduate, and in turn, his parents bring her along with them for his graduation. She helps him pack up his things back at his and Feuilly’s apartment, their lease just about up, promising Feuilly that they’ll meet up with him in New York within the next couple of weeks. Both he and Enjolras have gotten into Columbia, Enjolras for law school and Feuilly for his master’s degree in art history and archaeology. In addition to Feuilly’s admission to such a prestigious university, he’s gone and landed himself an internship at the fucking Met. Apparently he’s going back to live in his childhood home in Jersey City, at least until he saves up enough money to move out. Éponine doesn’t envy the somewhat long daily commute he’ll have to make.

She’s managed to get into the NYU School of Law, as have Marius, Bahorel, and Bossuet, so it’ll be nice, having a few familiar faces with her. Enjolras had been accepted as well, but when he had been faced with choosing between NYU and Columbia when he received the acceptance letter from the latter, it had been a no-brainer. Well, for her it had been. She talked him into attending Columbia, reasoning that they’ll see each other all the time anyway since they’re back in the same city now and they’ll be living together.

Éponine’s had a gig as a barista along with Musichetta at the Café Musain for about a year now—no wonder she pretended to be so upset about him apparently losing his allegiance to the coffee shop back when she visited him in California during October break of their junior year, Enjolras dryly notes. She earns a decent amount, with how the couple running the café actually pay their employees proper wages. So _that’s_ why the coffee is so overpriced.

Éponine makes a point of searching for pet-friendly apartments, making Enjolras wonder if she’s planning on getting a pet at some point. Likely a dog. She seems to have grown attached to Cosette and Marius’ Great Pyrenees puppy, Chou Chou, the couple (read: Cosette) having gotten him sometime after their honeymoon. And he remembers how much she loved Obi-Wan. Back in elementary school, she always talked about how she’s going to get a dog someday.

Gavroche tags along on most days, with how he’ll be living with them, at least until he graduates high school. Lucie, having used to work as a paralegal until her diagnosis a few years ago, has helped connect Éponine to a good family attorney from the firm she’d worked at. Not that it seems like there’ll be much of a hassle in obtaining custody of Gavroche. Their mother is completely apathetic, their father’s an abusive drunk, and their apartment’s been reduced to little more than a grubby hovel over the past few years. As much as the thought pisses her off, Éponine has no doubt that they’ll relinquish legal custody without any protest.

They find a place in Greenwich Village: nice and affordable (though admittedly only with the help of Matthieu, who’s become their guarantor), with lots of light and a decent view. It’s a fairly spacious two-bedroom apartment with a study that can easily be converted into a third bedroom, located in one of those older residential buildings. It’s just within budget. _And_ the landlady allows pets, having a fucking _massive_ St. Bernard herself. All in all, it’s perfect.

It’s a bright day in early July when they move in, the summer heat having yet to fully kick in. Éponine stands on the pavement, waiting for Enjolras to come downstairs with his parents. All of their furniture (consisting almost entirely of IKEA purchases) is brand new and already in the apartment along with other belongings, just waiting to be unpacked, so it’s not like they have anything to bring from the penthouse. Gavroche has opted to crash at Grantaire’s place in SoHo for the time being, at least until the apartment is in order. The little shit.

Éponine places her brown newsboy cap on her head to shield her eyes from the sun as she watches Enjolras and his parents exiting the building, Lucie with her arm linked through her son’s. Matthieu bounds up to Éponine, patting her shoulder. “Look after him, will you?” he requests with a good-natured smile, glancing back at his son.

Éponine laughs and playfully salutes him. “Will do, sir.”

Enjolras heads over to Éponine and Matthieu, Lucie by his side. Her health has been steadily deteriorating and she needs a cane to walk now, but there’s still that same old sparkle in her eyes. She smiles rather wanly at Éponine, heading over to pull her into a hug before drawing back and taking her hands in hers. They’re the same size as her own, Éponine notes. Small hands, slender fingers.

“Take care of each other,” Lucie says. “Okay?”

Éponine smiles back, but it’s marred by melancholy, saddened by Lucie’s state. “Absolutely.”

Enjolras hugs his father, promising to come by for his weekly dinner with his parents that Thursday night, and he and Éponine are just about to get in the car when Lucie abruptly says, “Wait, I forgot something.”

They look on, perplexed, as Lucie starts retreating back into the apartment building, Matthieu soon joining her to help her along. Éponine and Enjolras stare after his parents as they get into the elevator leading up to their penthouse before glancing at each other.

“What do you think she forgot?” Éponine asks curiously. Enjolras just shrugs, just as confused as she is.

It’s about ten minutes later by the time his parents finally return, Lucie clutching something in her free hand. Enjolras eyes it rather warily as his parents catch up to him and Éponine. Lucie smiles at them both, handing it to Éponine. “We thought we’d give you two this,” she explains as Éponine turns it over in her hands, open-mouthed. “Think of it as your graduation present from us. And a moving-in gift.”

Taken aback, Enjolras stares at the tickets to Disney World in Éponine’s hands, rendered speechless as Lucie goes on, “It’s all set. We’ve bought the plane tickets and booked y’all a hotel room and everything. You’re going in August!”

“Mom, I—” Enjolras swallows, biting his lip. He’d wanted to stay in New York this summer, to be closer to his parents, especially with how Lucie’s getting sicker and, realistically, it doesn’t seem like she has much time left. “We can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can,” Lucie firmly insists. She lets out a little cough then, bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle it. “Gabriel, it’s okay. I’ll be _fine_. Y’all deserve to go have some fun.”

Éponine stares back and forth between Lucie and the tickets, and then she surges forward to embrace her, laughing a little disbelievingly. “Oh, my God, Lucie, I don’t know what to say,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

Lucie lets out a little laugh. “You’re very welcome, Éponine.”

Éponine is still staring at the tickets in awe as Enjolras says, “Well, we really should be going now,” and embraces his parents one last time. She gets into the front passenger seat of his red Lexus, rolling down the window and waving to Lucie and Matthieu as Enjolras slowly begins to drive away, his parents growing smaller and smaller in the distance. She rolls the window back up and leans back in her seat, putting her feet up on the dash as David Bowie plays on the car stereo. As usual, Enjolras asks her to please get her feet off his dash, though more so out of habit than real annoyance. As usual, Éponine just laughs and sticks her tongue out at him, not doing anything of the sort.

“This is so crazy,” she comments, a little breathless. “Like! We’re moving in together! We have our own place! This is _crazy_!”

He laughs softly. “I know. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah! This is fucking _crazy_.” She reclines her seat a little, letting out a low whistle. “When we were kids, we always wanted to live together.” She reaches out to rub the tattoo on his inner wrist before her hand finds his, and almost immediately, he laces his fingers through hers. “And now we’re actually going to. It’s insane. I mean, just think of the fun things we can do!”

He raises his eyebrows, lips twitching as he attempts to suppress an amused smile. “Such as?”

“Fighting over whose turn it is to do the laundry, going grocery shopping at three in the morning, doing sock slides in the living room…” She looks over at him and grins, giving his hand a squeeze. Looking back at the road ahead, she misses the spots of pink that bloom in his cheeks. “We can stay up as late as we want to and make our own rules.”

“I thought you didn’t like it when I stay up late,” he says.

“Yeah, because you stay up late working yourself to death,” she retorts, a playful grin on her face. He lets go of her hand to glance at her momentarily and poke at one of her dimples before returning his gaze to the road. She laughs. “We’ll stay up late binge-watching _Friends_ and old Leo DiCaprio movies. And I’m not letting you overwork like you always do, because fuck that.”

He rolls his eyes with a quiet chuckle. “Whatever you say, Nina.”

The drive from the Upper East Side to Greenwich Village lasts about twenty minutes, Éponine hopping out of the car and going around to take her guitar out of the trunk the moment it comes to a stop by the pavement. So that’s another thing to be excited about. She’ll actually get to keep her guitar with her without the threat of her father flying into a rage and destroying it out of spite. For once in her life, things are truly starting to look up.

Enjolras gets out of the car and locks it, tucking the car keys back into his pocket and taking out the apartment keys. He glances down at Éponine, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

She grins. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Several flights of stairs later, their apartment being located on one of the top floors of the building, they reach their door, Éponine bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation as Enjolras puts the key in and turns the lock. It’s kind of ridiculous how excited she is—they were just here yesterday with the last of the boxes containing their things. But it’s _different_ now, because they’re officially moving in. Holy fuck.

They step inside and take a look around.

The hardwood floors are freshly waxed, all their boxes neatly arranged against the walls in the living room, sunlight streaming in through the large windows and illuminating the entire room. Éponine leaves her guitar by the front door and sighs contentedly, Enjolras putting his arm around her in an affectionate side hug.

“This is so adulty,” she remarks in slight awe, looking around the living room, already thinking of how she’ll arrange pictures in frames and such on the walls. She glances at the boxes and looks up at Enjolras, narrowing her eyes with a playful grin. “So shall we unpack? The sooner we get it over with, the better, right?”

“Actually,” he says, “the floors have just been waxed. And I think you mentioned something about sock slides back in the car…?”

Éponine’s entire face lights up. “Seriously?”

Enjolras laughs, a little too fondly. “Sure, if you want. We have the whole rest of the day to unpack and assemble all that IKEA furniture.”

A huge dimpled grin nearly splits her face in half. She’s already kicking her shoes off. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?”

His breath catches a little in his throat. He manages to smile back, trying to hide how flustered he’s become. “I think you might have once or twice before.”

He’s barely just set his shoes aside after taking them off when she grabs him by the hand and nearly falls flat on her face as she drags him to the centre of the living room. Turning the volume way up on her phone, she hits shuffle on a random playlist and the tinny sound of some Panic! at the Disco song Enjolras can’t remember the name of at the moment fills the room.

She spins him around once, and her laughter is like music to his ears.

* * *

They fall back onto the sofa, completely knackered from their day spent unpacking and assembling and pushing around heavy furniture and sorting through other things such as books and framed pictures and God knows what else. It’s close to midnight, the Manhattan skyline illuminated by the city lights outside, and Éponine throws her head back and sighs, stretching out her arms against the back of the sofa. She glances up at the pride flags they’ve hung like tapestries on the wall directly above the sofa, to be taken down for when they go to pride. Bi, demi, pan. A smaller rainbow flag has been placed above the front door.

She leans into the couch cushions and lets out a deep, contented sigh, cracking a lazy grin as she looks over at Enjolras. “This fucking rules.”

He laughs wryly. “You won’t be saying that when I’m nagging you about doing your chores. I’m going to make a chore wheel.”

She pulls a face. “Do you have to?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t do any chores otherwise.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me, _Gabe_.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes with a snort. “I’m only speaking from experience, _Nina_.”

Éponine petulantly sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever. We’ll still have lots of fun.”

A corner of his mouth turns up in a tiny smile before he turns his head to press his lips to her temple. “So what happens now?”

She shrugs, leaning into him. “Pop a bottle to celebrate? I know Julien gave you some fancy champagne.” She lets out a little gasp then and grins. “Ooh, and we can go on a Disney binge or something while we drink.”

He turns his head to gaze at her, lips curved into a soft smile. “Whatever you want.”

While Enjolras sets off in search of that bottle of champagne Combeferre gave him a few days ago, Éponine gets up to wander through the apartment, thoroughly pleased by what they’ve done with the place. She stops in the hallway leading to their bedrooms to gaze at the framed pictures they’ve put up on the wall. Their first day of kindergarten, the day they met and declared themselves best friends, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders and beaming proudly at the camera. The time his parents took them to see their first Broadway show when they were seven, the four of them having gone to see _Wicked_. The two of them on the beach, building a sandcastle together, from their vacation to his family’s beach house in the Hamptons when they were eight, when Lucie and Matthieu let him bring her, Cosette, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac along. Éponine laughs a little to herself at the memory of how big Enjolras’ head had been back then. Good thing the rest of his body caught up as the years passed.

Enjolras’ door opens then and she jumps, rather startled, as he emerges from his room. He gives her an odd look, a curious little smile playing at his lips as he walks on over to her, holding the bottle of champagne in his hand. He raises his eyebrows at her, questioning, “Shall I get the glasses?”

“Nah,” she says blithely, reaching out to grab the bottle from him and turning on her heel to traipse back into the living room as she pops it open, something she’s gotten good at in the past couple of years. She takes a swig and plops back down onto the sofa, criss-cross applesauce, reaching out for him to beckon him over by making grabby hands.

He rolls his eyes, albeit fondly, and sits down cross-legged beside her, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. “Are we including Pixar movies in this binge?”

“Here, gimme.” She takes the remote from him and picks out the first movie that pops up, which happens to be _Sleeping Beauty_ , and so they go from there.

Éponine snuggles up to Enjolras without even thinking about it, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, too caught up in the movie to really notice how he initially tenses up before relaxing again. She swigs champagne out of the bottle, spilling a bit of it on her Marina and the Diamonds hoodie at one point before he takes the bottle from her, deciding that maybe she’s had enough of that for now. She pretends to scowl at him as he leans forward slightly to place the bottle on the coffee table, but she’s quickly distracted by the movie again.

She hums along to “Once Upon a Dream”, laughing quietly to herself as she takes Enjolras’ hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “Remember when we went as Aurora and Phillip for Halloween back when we were in the first grade?” She had been a brunette Aurora. It had been the beginning of their habit of wearing coordinated Halloween costumes.

He lets out a little laugh. “Yes. You stole most of my candy.”

“You weren’t going to eat it anyway,” she retorts. “You’re so damn picky when it comes to candy.”

He laughs again, falling silent for a few moments before speaking up once more. “I wonder if we have any photographs from that Halloween lying around,” he murmurs a little absently, talking more to himself than anyone else.

She looks up and places her chin on his shoulder. “You should ask your mom,” she tells him. “She’s got tons of pictures of us from when we were kids.”

He cracks a wan smile. He can’t ignore the fact that his mom isn’t going to be around for much longer anymore. He’s not sure what he’ll do when the inevitable happens. He doesn’t want to, but it’s all he can think about nowadays.

Éponine notices the shadow that appears to have fallen over his face and bites her lip, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey. You know you can always talk to me, right?”

“Yes, I know.” Enjolras rubs circles into the back of her hand and leans his head back against hers, sighing. “I’m probably going to be spending more time at my parents’ for the next few weeks. At least until we go down to Florida.” He meets her eyes. “Is that okay with you?”

“Who am I to stop you from spending time with your parents? Obviously.” She grins at him, and it puts him more at ease, if only a little bit. “But I’m always here for you. Always have been, always will be.”

He smiles softly. He doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve her, but he’s eternally grateful for her existence. He can’t imagine his life without her. She’s been in it for so long, he can’t even remember a time when she wasn’t. “You’re my best friend, Nina.”

“Yeah, I know.” She gives him a _look_ , but her facetious tone soon takes a much more sincere turn as she squeezes his hand yet again and responds, “You’re my best friend too, Gabe.”

She smiles at him then, soft, warm, dimples etching themselves into her cheeks, and he’s a fucking goner.

Éponine falls asleep about three movies in, just as the sun is beginning to rise, ironically enough. Enjolras himself is struggling to keep his eyes open as he gets up to carry her to her room. She doesn’t stir, head lolling onto his shoulder as he bridal-carries her, and as he tucks her into her bed, he can’t help but think about how endearing it is that she still cries at _Toy Story 3_. So does he, but still.

Alone with his thoughts, he takes the time to wander through the apartment, only really taking the time to get a proper look now. He goes through the pictures in frames up on the walls, on the mantel, on the shelves. Photos offering a glimpse into the past seventeen years. He wonders if his parents have any home videos of them. He should ask them about it the next time he goes to their place.

He yawns as he gazes out the window at the streets below, only now realising just how tired he is. Groggily, he finds his way back to his bedroom and falls into bed, asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

* * *

Éponine sits cross-legged on the sofa, absently strumming on her guitar, as Enjolras paces around, triple-checking everything, making sure that he hasn’t forgotten a single thing. Their plane to Florida takes off that noon, and it’s already nine o’clock in the morning. Gavroche is going to be staying at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s place in Midtown while his sister and Enjolras are gone. Apparently ten days alone in a three-bedroom apartment isn’t his idea of a good time. Go figure.

Éponine scrunches up her face at Enjolras as he unlocks his suitcase to check its contents yet again, not wanting to leave anything behind. “Gabe, seriously, I’m sure you didn’t forget anything, let’s _go_ already.”

“I’m just making sure, Nina,” he replies, locking his suitcase and finally getting to his feet. He eyes Éponine’s luggage, which is arranged by the front door, consisting of two giant mint-green suitcases and her leather travel backpack. Enjolras gets the feeling that the second suitcase is practically empty.

As if reading his mind, she looks at her luggage and then back at him, raising her eyebrows challengingly. “I’m not going to let you put your stuff in my extra suitcase when you _inevitably_ run out of space in your own because of all the shit we’ll buy.”

He rolls his eyes with a quiet laugh. “Sure, Nina.”

They get going about ten minutes later, taking a cab to the Upper East Side to see his parents before they go off to the airport. Lucie’s health has worsened over the past month and she’s almost completely bedridden by now, and Enjolras doesn’t want her to exhaust herself even further by seeing him and Éponine off at the airport. The moment the cab driver parks in front of Enjolras’ parents’ apartment building, he and Éponine get out to go upstairs to the penthouse, in a bit of a rush. They’re running late enough already as it is, what with Enjolras’ obsessive need to triple-check everything beforehand.

The elevator door has just barely opened and Enjolras is already sprinting out and up the staircase to his parents’ room, finding his mother inside, sitting up in bed and watching TV as she spoons porridge into her mouth rather sporadically. Enjolras’ heart breaks a little more at the sight of how frail she looks. He’s spent the majority of the past month here with her, looking after her while his father is at work, and of course having their weekly dinner together. Matthieu is here now, sitting beside her in bed and stroking her hand when she turns to him and quietly tells him she isn’t hungry anymore.

They look up when Enjolras comes in, and a smile lights up Lucie’s face. Even now, after four years of battling breast cancer, her blue eyes have never lost their sparkle. Matthieu cracks a little smile as well. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom.” Enjolras goes inside, Éponine standing in the doorway behind him. She’s content to just stay there, but Lucie weakly reaches out and beckons her over.

“Come on in, Éponine,” she invites warmly. “We’d like to see you as well.”

Her cheeks growing warm, Éponine enters the bedroom. She’s known how massive it is since she was five years old, but even now, nearly two decades later, it’s still a little overwhelming. She sits down next to Enjolras at the edge of the bed, watching Lucie, wondering what she’s going to say next.

“Mom, are you sure about this?” Enjolras asks in concern, chewing on his bottom lip. “What if something happens to you while I’m gone?”

Lucie manages a quiet laugh. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Gabriel.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Honey, it’s only ten days. I’ll live.”

Enjolras still looks doubtful, a conflicted look in his blue eyes, but he doesn’t push further, and Lucie turns to Éponine. “Take care of each other, alright?” she says, echoing her words from the day they moved into their apartment. The corners of her mouth turn up as she looks into Éponine’s eyes. “Now y’all go have fun, okay? Take lots of pictures for us.”

Éponine lets out a tiny laugh. “Of course, Lucie.”

“Dad, make sure Mom is alright,” Enjolras says, something akin to urgency in his voice.

Matthieu laughs rather gruffly, cocking his head and giving his son a look, silently telling him to calm down, everything will be just fine. “ _Yes_ , Gabriel, I promise.”

Enjolras’ eyes linger on the array of orange pill bottles on the nightstand for several moments, and Éponine follows his gaze. She puts her hand on top of his and gives it a squeeze. He averts his gaze to look down into his lap, smiling rather wanly to himself.

He leans over to hug Lucie, burying his face in her shoulder even though she’s so much smaller than he is, letting out a deep sigh. “I love you, Mom.”

Lucie pats his back, a wistful look on her face. “I love you too, sweet pea.”

They stay there for quite a while more before Lucie is insisting that they go, they’ll miss their flight if they stay any longer, she’ll be just fine back here with Matthieu. So after bidding them goodbye and promising to call once they get to Florida, Enjolras and Éponine go back downstairs, Enjolras making a mental note to heavily tip their surely impatient cab driver as they stop to make polite small talk with the doorman for a bit.

Even with his parents’ countless reassurances earlier, a feeling of unease settles deep in Enjolras’ bones on the drive to the airport. Éponine, noticing his silence, takes his hand.

“You okay?” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. Not that it matters much, considering how their cab driver seems too absorbed in whatever song is currently playing on the radio.

He hesitates for a few moments before he nods. “Yes. Or at least, I will be.” He glances over at her and the corners of his mouth quirk up in the tiniest smile. “I’ll be just fine.”

Still, even as they board the plane and are subsequently guided into first class, Enjolras can’t quite shake that deep feeling of apprehension. He knows he’s just being paranoid. His mother’s made it another year, one year more than the average. What’s ten more days, right?


	16. a trip to the happiest place on earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their trip to Disney World doesn’t entirely go as expected.

* * *

As they enter the mercifully air-conditioned lobby of the lavish Grand Floridian, only a single monorail ride away from Magic Kingdom, Éponine wonders just how much money Enjolras’ parents spent on this damn trip.

“Oh, my _God_ , it’s so fucking _hot_ out there,” she bemoans as they walk up to the front desk to check themselves in. “Why did your parents book us a trip in _August_ , of all months?”

“Because if we had gone when it was cooler, we might have run into Cosette and Marius and ruined their honeymoon,” Enjolras deadpans as he takes Éponine’s backpack from her, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Har har,” she says sardonically, giving him a wry smile. He laughs, a real laugh, and smiles back at her.

The receptionist who greets them is a bright-eyed woman who seems to be a few years older than them, tall, with amber eyes behind rectangular glasses and brown skin and tight, dark brown corkscrew curls that fall to her shoulders. Enjolras gives her their reservation info, and she shoots them a friendly smile as she checks them in and hands them their room key.

“It’s none of my business, I know, but I’ve got to say, you two are just the cutest couple,” she tells them. Enjolras’ feels his face flush an incriminating shade of scarlet.

Éponine’s eyes widen in slight alarm, caught off-guard by the comment. She attempts to laugh it off, her cheeks hot. “What? No, oh, my God, no, we’re friends,” she quickly corrects the receptionist. She laughs a little more, hoping to mask her true feelings. The last thing she wants to do is make this trip too awkward to bear.

Enjolras’ heart sinks. So she thinks even the mere idea of them being together is funny. Well. At least now he knows for sure that his feelings are one-sided.

“Best friends,” he murmurs, not really expecting Éponine to hear. But she does.

“Yes,” she agrees, giving the bewildered receptionist a smile. “My best friend in the universe.”

He lightens up a little more at that. No matter what happens, at least they’ll always have that. Best friends until the end. Regardless of whatever his feelings for her may be, her friendship is always going to be more than enough for him.

The receptionist looks back and forth between them, unsure of what to say next. She just gives them another big smile, kind of awkward. “Well, we hope you enjoy your stay,” she tells them.

Enjolras manages a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

They find their way to the elevators, Éponine letting out a breathless laugh once they’re inside, just the two of them with their luggage. “That was weird,” she remarks.

He can’t help but laugh too, even if it is a little forced. “Very.”

They find their room on the fourth floor, and once inside, Éponine abandons her luggage by the door to run and leap onto the bed closest to the window, laughing madly at how soft the sheets are. Enjolras smiles and follows her in, actually taking the time to look around. Two queen beds, a scarlet daybed, heavy curtains in lush shades of red, gold, and blue, a gorgeous view of Magic Kingdom in the distance from their balcony. He walks over to the window to gaze out, looking back at Éponine and stifling an amused laugh at the look of utter concentration on her face as she struggles to rip the blankets out from where they’re tucked.

“So what do you want to do first?” he asks, sitting down at the edge of her bed. “We have ten days here. We’d be able to visit all the parks twice and still have two days to ourselves.”

She flashes him a sly grin, placing her hands under her head. “What are the odds that we’d be able to score tickets to Universal Studios and spend a couple of days there?”

He rolls his eyes, placing his hand on her leg. “They’d be expensive. Theme park tickets usually are, if not always.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, so? Your family’s loaded. You can totally afford it.”

He gives her a little smile, deciding to humour her. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

She beams and sits up, leaning over to throw her arms around him and hug him tight. His breath catches in his throat, a furious blush rising to his cheeks, and he buries his face in her shoulder to hide his smile as he hugs her back.

“You’re sweaty,” he tells her, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

She slaps his back and pretends to huff. “Shut up. We can’t all be incapable of sweating.”

He breaks away from her and rolls his eyes again, getting up. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

He’s just on his way to the bathroom when Éponine calls out at the last second, “No, wait!”

Enjolras turns around, eyebrows knit. “What?”

She swings her legs over the edge of her bed and hops to her feet. “Let’s go for a swim.”

He watches as she grabs her suitcase, the one that actually contains at least _some_ things, and drags it over to the foot of her bed, crouching down to unlock it and fling it open. His throat goes dry and his cheeks flush when she pulls out a bikini and what seems to be an oversized white T-shirt. Thankfully, she seems to remain oblivious as she straightens back up and saunters past him and into the bathroom. He seizes the opportunity to grab his burgundy swim trunks and quickly change into them, leaving his Captain America T-shirt on. He’s still undecided on whether or not he’ll take it off at the pool.

Éponine soon emerges, wearing the T-shirt she brought into the bathroom with her over her bikini, and it’s enormous on her slim frame, falling to her mid-thighs. Enjolras looks at the design on the front, the album cover of The 1975’s sophomore album with its pink neon sign, and it looks weirdly familiar. His gaze goes from her shirt to her face, and he immediately notices how she looks like she’s struggling to suppress a grin. He laughs under his breath and rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been wondering where that shirt went,” he casually remarks. She laughs so hard she cackles.

“You’re never getting it back, Gabe,” she informs him sweetly. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

She hands him a towel and slaps on a pair of oversized reflective wayfarer shades, and they take the elevator downstairs. Once outside, the damn near scorching heat engulfs them immediately. If that wasn’t already bad enough, it’s super fucking humid as well, and, already unable to take it, Éponine rips her shirt off, carrying it in her arms as they find empty pool chairs in the shade to discard their belongings on. It’s all Enjolras can do not to stare.

She’s a far cry from the skinny little thing she’d been back when they started high school, having filled out, all curves now with an hourglass shape and fantastic stems, her black-and-white floral-print halter-top bikini greatly complementing her figure. Her slender build often makes her look taller than she really is in pictures. His eyes trailing back up, he swallows at the sight of her cleavage, which is on full display. He almost doesn’t notice her smirk.

“Yeah, I know. I have a rockin’ rack,” she says out of the blue, making him jump. She cackles as she pushes her sunglasses up onto her forehead, pushing her dark hair back from her face, and flashes him a teasing grin. “Go ahead and stare at it all you want. My tits haven’t received much attention lately. What a shame, really.”

She’s pushing it, she knows, acting so unabashedly audacious like this, making such comments. But it’s like word vomit. To keep herself from feeling so self-conscious, she goes completely in the other direction, brazen and careless like she’s always been but taking it way up to eleven. It’s as if the words are forcing themselves out of her mouth.

Honestly, she doesn’t know _why_ she feels so self-conscious. It’s completely irrational, considering how she’s worn a bikini plenty of times before in public and has never felt half as insecure as she does now. Maybe it’s because it’s Enjolras.

(It is definitely because it’s Enjolras.)

He splutters, completely thrown off by her absolutely shameless comment. His whole face feels like it’s been set on fire. “I—Nina, what— _Jesus_ —” It takes him several moments to regain his composure, collect whatever dignity he has left, and he sucks in a deep breath, giving her a _look_ , trying to appear disdainful. With how her shit-eating grin only broadens, it’s evident that he’s failing. “You’re full of shit.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “You love me.”

She takes off her sunglasses to place them on the little table between their chairs and jumps into the pool without warning. Enjolras flinches a little at how water comes splashing back up, getting on him and soaking into his clothes, and without giving it any more thought, he takes his shirt off, neatly laying it out on his chair. Éponine surfaces, letting out a blissful sigh before any other noise she may have made dies in her throat when her gaze lands on Enjolras.

She’s seen him shirtless before. Numerous times, actually. She doesn’t know why it strikes her so much now, but it does. It might be the plentiful sunlight highlighting his lean, muscular body. Son of a _bitch_ , he’s sexy. She spends a little too much time just blatantly staring at his abs, and then at his arms, and then at his broad shoulders, and then at his face, a little envious of his ridiculously good bone structure. No doubt about it—he is _very_ easy on the eyes.

She watches as he slathers on an almost ungodly amount of sunscreen all over himself and bites back a laugh. She tans, he sunburns. She’s always liked to poke fun at him because of it. Thank God she’s not white.

Soon enough, he takes notice of her gaze on him, and his cheeks flush once again. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. If she does, she makes no mention of it. “Nina, you’re staring,” he chides lightly.

She looks up to meet his eyes and grins. “And so what if I am? You’re nice to look at.”

His cheeks positively burn. But knowing her, she’ll probably just chalk it up to the heat. So he sets the bottle of sunscreen aside and sits down at the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. It’s cool, a welcome respite from the relentless heat, so he slowly slides in. Éponine cheers and splashes water in his direction, laughing at how he scrunches up his face, eyes squeezed shut.

The two of them just kind of float there for a while, comfortable with the golden silence between them, taking the time to cool off in the intense heat. At some point, after God only knows how long, she turns her head a little to look at him, raising her eyebrows. “So where do you want to go tomorrow?”

Enjolras meets her eyes and shrugs. “Where do _you_ want to go?”

Éponine returns her gaze up to the endless blue skies, jutting out her bottom lip rather thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.” She looks back at him. “You have.”

“Well, yes, twelve years ago. I was _ten_.” He remembers begging his parents to let him bring Éponine along. They would’ve taken her if it hadn’t been for her parents refusing to grant her permission to go with them. “The parks have changed a lot since then.”

“Hey, you’re the expert here. Which park should we hit up first?”

“Hmm… I’ve always liked Epcot.”

“Well, then, Epcot it is.”

* * *

“You having fun over there?” Enjolras asks, a corner of his mouth quirking up in an amused half-smile as he watches Éponine darting around like a hamster on a sugar high, taking pictures on her phone, her little backpack slung over one shoulder. Even though it doesn’t go with the rest of her clothes at all, she has her brown newsboy cap on, shielding her face from the sun.

She turns around and sticks her tongue out at him, her phone camera still trained on Spaceship Earth. “Shouldn’t you be documenting my first trip to Disney for me or something? Figured you’d be into that sort of sentimental shit.” She pauses, thinking for a bit. “No, wait, that’s Jehan. Never mind.”

Enjolras laughs and catches up to her, casually placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll document your first Disney trip for you if you want. It’s no problem.”

Éponine leans into his touch and grins up at him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do.” He takes his phone out to snap a spontaneous picture of her. Just as the camera goes off, she flips him the bird, but she’s laughing. He rolls his eyes, tucking his phone back into his pocket as he says matter-of-factly, “You deserve all the good things in the world.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, playing along. And alright, she kind of wants someone to tell her that she’s worthy, that she isn’t just a waste of space, that she deserves good things in life. She’s not sure where this thirst for validation came from. “And those are…?”

“Free healthcare,” he replies simply. “Being out of student-loan debt. Billionaires ceasing to exist. Straight cisgender men not being so fucking terrible. Among other things.”

She throws her head back and cackles. The answer is just so quintessential Enjolras that she can’t help it. “I think that’s what the world in general deserves, not just me,” she deadpans, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes. As they walk out of Future World into the World Showcase, she says, “Tell me all the good things that you think I, personally, deserve.”

“Love,” he says without hesitation. “Happiness. Success. Being surrounded by people whom you love and who love you.”

The breath catches in her throat. How does he do that? Joking around one moment, effortlessly saying something so incredibly heartfelt the next. As she looks up to meet his gaze, her heart rate rising a little at the sight of how his blue eyes have gone soft, she murmurs a little breathlessly, “I think I’m doing just fine in that department.”

He smiles at her then, and butterflies practically attack her insides.

They stop to gaze out over the World Showcase Lagoon, looking out at the pavilions. A permanent world’s fair. Éponine takes a few pictures before handing her phone to Enjolras for selfie-taking, since he’s considerably taller than she is, and then, as she’s looking through the photographs and trying to determine which ones to post to Instagram later when they get back to the hotel, he taps the MagicBand encircling her wrist. “Do you want to meet Elsa?”

She stares up at him for several moments and snorts. “Lead the way, babe.”

She takes pictures of their surroundings as they find their way to the Norway Pavilion, occasionally dragging him into selfies but more often taking extemporaneous pictures of him because he just looks so pretty in that moment, and she’s well aware of how her actions can easily be construed as obnoxious, but she really, truly can’t be bothered to give a fuck about it right now. Not when she’s exploring Disney World for the first time with her best friend in the whole entire universe. The best graduation present she could have asked for. She makes a mental note to send Lucie a bouquet of flowers when they get back.

The lines are, surprisingly, not nearly as long as Éponine initially expected them to be, and she and Enjolras breeze through attractions in practically no time at all. Meeting characters, going on rides, snacking on delicacies from all around the world. They spend quite some time in the Morocco Pavilion, checking out the architecture. And then they go to France.

They run into Belle first and have a nice conversation with her—namely, Enjolras exchanges book recommendations with her while Éponine watches, unsure of whether to be endeared or perplexed—before taking a few pictures and bidding her goodbye, looking around at their surroundings. Quaint, adorable, with a small replica of the Eiffel Tower.

“It looks like a mini Paris,” Éponine remarks, doing little to mask her awe as they pass through.

Enjolras takes her hand to give it a quick squeeze. “I’ll take you there one day. Paris, I mean. For real.”

She stares at him, not sure of what to say. Paris is, as everyone who hasn’t been living under a rock knows, the city of love. Hell, Cosette and Marius got _engaged_ there, right there on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower, and they have the photographs to prove it. Do best friends who aren’t involved in a relationship with each other really go on trips together to Paris? Is this his subtle way of telling her that he’s got some sort of romantic feelings for her as well? No, that can’t be it. For one thing, she would _know_ if he returns her feelings. All these years of knowing each other have resulted in their ability to read each other like a book. She’s probably just seeing the things she wants to see, hearing the things she wants to hear.

Éponine’s so lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice how Enjolras keeps calling her name until he waves his hand in front of her face, abruptly snapping her out of it. She jumps, startled, eyes wide as they find his. “Nina? Are you okay?” His brow furrows, lips pursed in concern. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Damn, was she that out of it? “I’m fine,” she assures him, flashing him a slight grin. “Just a little surprised, that’s all. But yeah, going to Paris one day. Together. I’d love that. Thanks, Gabriel.”

He exhales, smiling back at her, and she’s overcome by the ridiculous urge to kiss him. She doesn’t, of course. But she kind of sort of really, really wants to.

She looks past his shoulder then, and her face lights up. “Hey, look, there’s Aurora! Let’s get a picture with her!”

There’s a line leading up to the gazebo under which Aurora stands, exchanging words with visitors, taking pictures with them. Éponine doesn’t envy her having to wear a heavy long-sleeved gown in this humid, ninety-degree weather. It’s quite impressive how she manages to smile graciously through it all, honestly.

Éponine’s staring rather intently at Aurora’s pink dress by the time they reach her, initially ignoring her attempts at greeting in favour of staring at the dress. It’s only when Enjolras elbows her in the ribs does she snap out of it, blinking as she looks up, cheeks burning. “Sorry! I just…” She bites her lip, embarrassed. “I love your dress.”

Aurora looks down at herself. Éponine only realises now how she probably receives a million comments like that on a daily basis, and she cringes a little at her blunder. “Why, thank you!”

“She really does,” Enjolras says. “We dressed up as you and Phillip for Halloween when we were in the first grade.”

Aurora beams at him, utterly charmed. Hard not to be, Éponine thinks. “Oh, that is adorable.”

Éponine recovers and takes out her phone. “Here, let me show you a picture.”

She finds it easily in the album she’s made for elementary-school photographs and holds her phone out to show Aurora, who smiles, endeared by the sight. “Adorable.”

They chat for a few moments more before taking photographs and going on their merry way, on the hunt for food. After grabbing lunch at a restaurant in the UK Pavilion, they just wander through the World Showcase and Future World, finding time to go on all nine rides and take plenty of pictures together. All in all, their day at Epcot is really rather laid-back, with how it’s quite a lot more tranquil than Éponine can only assume the other three parks are. She gets it now, why Enjolras likes Epcot the best out of all of them.

At the end of the day, as they’re taking the monorail back to the hotel after the sun has gone down and Éponine’s looking through the hundred or so photographs they took over the course of that day alone to pick out the ones she’ll post later, Enjolras asks her, “So what did you think of your first day at Disney?”

She looks up to find that he’s got his camera pointed at her, and she can’t help the raucous laugh that escapes her throat at the realisation that he’s actually taking her joking suggestion from earlier that day seriously. She wrinkles her nose at him, a playful grin on her lips, and candidly replies, “Everything I could’ve asked for and more. Can’t wait to see more of it.”

The smile that her words draw out of him is so bright, the sun and stars pale in comparison. He breathes out a tiny laugh as he murmurs, “Good answer.”

* * *

They spend the next several days almost entirely at the Disney parks, with the exception of that one day when they took off to take a bus to Disney Springs and buy souvenirs for everyone back home, and Éponine’s kind of surprised by how the crowds at all four parks are much less substantial than she initially expected, with miraculously short queues and no need to get into fistfights over tables at restaurants. Enjolras deduces that it must be some combination of the scorching heat and the looming threat of going back to school drawing nearer keeping the crowds away. (He didn’t actually say the “looming threat” bit, but Éponine thinks he might as well have. At least, that’s how _she_ would have put it.)

After the first couple of days, they work out a routine: get up at eight, take off for one of the parks at nine, have breakfast at whichever park they’ve chosen to visit that day, proceed to explore the park for the next twelve hours or so, go back to the hotel via monorail, take turns showering, he calls his parents like he does every night, spend another couple of hours watching a movie or something, finally fall asleep. He likes having a set schedule to plan his day around. It makes him feel in control. She goes along with it with little protest; Lord knows she could stand to be more organised, especially with how they’ll be starting law school in September.

He soon learns she has an odd innate knowledge as to where all the cameras are on theme park attractions, with how they keep getting pictures back from the rides they go on in which she’s pulling face after ridiculous face. He’s torn between annoyance and amusement at the utter absurdity of it. They’ll be something to look back on in a few years, that’s for sure.

Enjolras hoists Éponine up on his back to give her a piggyback ride on their way out of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, out of the dark and back into the sunlight, with her making smartass comments about how they really created an entire movie franchise out of a damn theme park attraction all the while. She loves it whenever he gives her a piggyback ride. He’s so damn tall—compared to most, anyway—it feels like she can see the whole world from up there.

She adjusts the mouse ears on top of her head, black-sequinned with a rainbow bow, and does the same with his fluffy sorcerer’s apprentice mouse ears before taking her phone out to take a selfie of the two of them as he gives her a piggyback ride through Adventureland, searching for the next ride they feel like taking.

“Your arms are sticky,” Éponine informs him, tightening her grip on him so not to fall off. Enjolras only lets out a dry laugh, repositioning his arms so she’ll be more secure.

“Nina, it’s ninety-something degrees out and _humid_ , what exactly were you expecting?” he ripostes. She cackles and rolls her eyes.

“I’m _just saying_.” She rather obnoxiously ruffles his curls, setting his mouse ears a little askew as a result. She straightens them out for him yet again and gazes at their surroundings as they make their way out of Adventureland and into Liberty Square. No matter how hard she tries, it’s getting a little hard to ignore the feeling of his large hands against her bare thighs, much of her legs exposed due to the frayed black shorts she’s wearing. “Fucking hell, it’s like Satan’s armpit out here,” she remarks, wrinkling her nose. He snorts.

She watches the riverboat drift by on the water as they seek out the Haunted Mansion, making a mental note to drag him into going on it later that day. Thus far, their trip to Disney World has been lovely. Neither of them appreciate the monopoly that the mouse has on the entertainment industry, but even they aren’t immune to the charms of the theme parks. It helps that his parents are the ones paying for this trip.

Enjolras takes his camera out to point it at themselves, asking Éponine but mostly really just talking to the camera, “How are you liking your fifth day at Disney, Éponine? We’re halfway through our vacation now.”

She barks out a laugh and sticks her tongue out at the camera when he points it up at her, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s fucking awesome. The photo ops are fantastic. And also, the animatronic of the evil orange fascist in the Hall of Presidents is creepy as fuck and I want to burn it.”

He laughs out loud with a slight roll of his eyes. “You and me both.”

“Remember when we were nine and said we wanted to be president and VP?” she muses, laughing a little to herself. “Or president and First Lady, or president and First Gentleman.” Oh, the limitless ambitions of two nine-year-old kids.

His cheeks burn at the reminder, remembering that third-grade career day perfectly. The implications of getting married to each other when they joked about one of them becoming president and the other first spouse. “We were just children then.”

“Hey, I’m still up for it if you are,” she says, and then she grins. They both know she lacks a filter and would make more enemies than she would friends if she really did decide to go into politics, thanks to her sharp tongue and brutal honesty.

He tries to figure out what she means by that, the wording is so vague. Up for becoming president and VP? Or up for becoming president and first spouse? Probably the former, he reasons. After all, it was so much easier to joke about marriage back when they were nine and adulthood still seemed so far away than it is now when they’re twenty-two and Fully-Functioning Adults. Well, supposed to be. So he just gives a quiet laugh as he says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Éponine watches as Enjolras turns the camera back around to film their walk through Liberty Square on their way to the Haunted Mansion, absent-mindedly toying with her locket, considering changing the tiny photograph in it to one of their Disney photos. She likes how serene the parks are, mostly, with moderate crowds, and sure, Florida in August is hell on earth, but the calm at the Disney parks makes up for it. She would _not_ want to be here during peak tourist season.

She leans around to rest her chin on his shoulder, leaning her head against his. His cheeks grow warm as he reaches up to give her hand a small squeeze, making her giggle. She quietly confides, “Y’know, there’s no one else I’d rather go on a Disney trip with.”

And now his cheeks are burning again. “Same here.”

As the day goes by, the pair of them stocking up on souvenirs throughout, it gets harder to ignore how a lot of the people here, mostly employees they interact with out of necessity, keep mistaking them for a couple. After the first dozen or so times, Enjolras becomes too flustered to correct them, leaving Éponine to scramble for the words, to reiterate that no, they’re not on their honeymoon, they’re not even together, they’re just a pair of best friends having fun. She gives up towards the end of the day, though. It’s too much of a hassle to explain the status of their relationship to complete strangers, however nosy and invasive they may be.

By ten o’clock that night, they’re back in their hotel room, Éponine sitting in her bed and munching on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos as she watches _Enchanted_ on the television while Enjolras is engrossed in a phone call with his father, sitting at the edge of his bed, his back turned to Éponine. She occasionally turns her attention away from the TV to listen, wondering how Lucie is doing.

“Yes, Dad, I’m eating enough, more than enough, actually, although I really don’t know what all the fuss is about when it comes to turkey legs, turkey tastes like cardboard… How is Mom? Is she doing alright? Is _she_ eating enough? Good, that’s good… Oh. Well, if appetite loss is normal… I’m sure it’ll pass soon. She should rest more, if she’s feeling so tired all the time. Okay. I love you, too.” He hangs up with a wan smile on his face, finding a new Instagram notification. Éponine’s tagged him in a post.

He looks back over his shoulder at her and she only raises her eyebrows back at him, the ghost of a smile on her lips. He rolls his eyes fondly as his gaze drifts back to his phone screen to look at the series of photographs she’s posted from that day. A mirror selfie of them laughing as they try on their mouse ears. A candid she took of him cutting a piece out of his powdered-sugar Mickey-shaped waffle that morning. Her spontaneously kissing his cheek as they took a selfie in front of Cinderella Castle. The pair of them soaked from head to toe after making the mistake of sitting in the very front when they went on Splash Mountain. He can’t help but smile as he swipes through the pictures.

**eponine.t: the most magical place on earth with my favorite person in the whole entire universe @genjolras 💛**

He looks up from his phone and glances over at her, a corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “I’m your favourite person?”

She wrinkles her nose at him, pretending to mull it over before she ultimately shrugs. “Don’t get a big head, hotshot.”

He rolls his eyes. “Love you, Nina.”

At that, she smiles, a real smile, dimples and all, and trills, “Love you too, Gabey!”

* * *

“Don’t you find it kinda weird how Rey here wears her TLJ outfit but has her hair in three buns?” Éponine remarks, nibbling on a pretzel as she and Enjolras wander through Galaxy’s Edge, looking for Savi’s Workshop so they can build their own custom lightsabers, having made a reservation a couple of days prior. Even though it’s the middle of the day, the sun beating down on them, the lights of her light-up Star Wars mouse ears go wild. Enjolras reaches up to turn the lights off. His hand brushes against her space buns in the process.

He shrugs at her comment. “It is a little odd, yes.”

“I’m just glad Galaxy’s Edge is set between _The Last Jedi_ and _The Rise of Skywalker_ ,” she says, ripping a piece off her pretzel to give to him. He accepts it and takes a bite. “Makes it easier for me to pretend the last movie never happened.” Her eyes narrow as she mutters darkly, “ _Rise of Skywalker_ , my ass. More like _The Demise of Skywalker_. I can’t believe _that_ was the ending we got…”

Enjolras hums in assent, putting his arm around her. Éponine readily leans into his touch. “It was pretty atrocious, wasn’t it?”

“Fucking unforgivable!” she loudly proclaims. Two parents with their toddler shoot her a dirty look as they pass by. She doesn’t seem very apologetic about it, though.

They’ve got a couple of days left before they fly back to New York, the two of them having decided on Hollywood Studios and Epcot as the last two parks they visit before going home. They’ve been here for a few hours now and have already gone on Smugglers Run, the Tower of Terror, and that Aerosmith roller coaster, grabbing snacks and drinks and encountering characters in between. They’ve bought new mouse ears in addition to other souvenirs as well—the light-up Star Wars ears for her, a pair of Chewbacca-themed ears for him. It’s a cloudless day, blue skies as far as the eye can see; a complete 180 from yesterday, when it poured buckets while they were in Animal Kingdom.

Éponine laughs and latches onto Enjolras, flinging her arms around his neck as they fall into step beside each other, with her awkwardly clinging to him from the side. They find Savi’s Workshop and check in, being assigned a group and proceeding to be escorted into the little build room.

“You know red is for the _bad_ guys, right?” she comments with a wry laugh as she watches him pick out a red kyber crystal, having chosen a violet one herself. He gives her a look and she just laughs even more. They both know how stupid a question that is. They’ve grown up on Star Wars movies; of course he knows red is traditionally wielded by the bad guys.

“Maybe I’ll switch things up a bit,” he replies simply, a corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight half-smile. “And red is my favourite colour.”

“I know, babe.” She flashes him a cocky grin as they’re instructed on how to assemble the hilt. She doesn’t pay much attention to the rest, only thinking of all the Baby Yoda merchandise she’ll buy once they pay for their lightsabers and get out of here. Oh, and lunch. She’s famished.

There doesn’t seem to be any chance of rain anytime soon as they walk out of the workshop, the bags containing their brand-new lightsabers slung over their shoulders, and Éponine’s not sure whether to be happy about the fact that they’ll get much better photos in the sun or exhausted by the constant sweltering heat. She pushes her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, wishing she’d brought her newsboy cap to further shield her face from the sun. Alas, it didn’t go at all with her chosen outfit of high-waisted denim shorts, a boxy My Chemical Romance crop top, and her ratty black Chucks.

As they walk into Echo Lake, Éponine remarks, “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of miss the cold. I can’t wait for December.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes with a disbelieving laugh. “You say that now, but by the time December comes around, you’ll be cursing out the snow like you do every year.”

She gives him a dirty look. “Shut up.”

He laughs again, much more genuine this time. “I’m only telling it like it is.”

Through the windows, they watch people pass by as they sit in a diner, having lunch. They’ve always liked doing that. Observing complete strangers and making up the most outrageous stories about what could possibly be going on in their lives right now to entertain themselves.

“You see that lady over there?” she says, pointing. He nods. “Ten bucks says her hubby’s cheating on her. I mean, look, he keeps looking at his phone and she keeps looking at _him_ all suspicious.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why do you always jump to the worst possible conclusions? Maybe he’s just expecting an important call.”

“Well, then, why would she be looking at him all suspicious?” she counters. “Surely he’d tell her if he’s just _expecting an important phone call_. Why would you keep that information from your wife? No, he’s totally cheating on her. Probably wondering when his mistress will text him again.” She snorts, taking a bite of her fried chicken. “Look at how she keeps looking at him and then at their kids. They’re the only reason they’re still together. He probably took them down here on vacation to try and buy her forgiveness. But she sure won’t be forgetting about his affair anytime soon.”

Enjolras looks at her incredulously, rather amused but mostly just disturbed by her ability to turn total strangers into the leads of an imaginary soap opera. “Your imagination never ceases to amaze me.”

Éponine tosses a fry at his head. “I know, I’m just that fucking great.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Sure, Nina.”

Several hours later, after the fireworks have ended, they finally decide to go back to the hotel, though not until taking asinine, dramatic photographs all over Galaxy’s Edge, posing with their glowing lightsabers, purple and red. Armed with bags and bags of even more merch, they return to the hotel, Éponine dumping all their shopping bags on the red daybed and going into the bathroom to shower. Enjolras has to wait another twenty minutes for her to emerge, dark hair dried out, another T-shirt she’s stolen from him falling to her mid-thighs, her sleep shorts concealed entirely.

He just shakes his head and goes to shower, taking half the time Éponine did and giving her the haughtiest look he can muster—judging by her hysterical reaction, he fails—before he notices his phone on his bed, the lock-screen lighting up. He reaches down to grab it, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the notification.

Five missed calls from his father.

“Nina, can you turn down the movie a bit?” Enjolras asks. Éponine gives him a questioning look but does as he asks anyway, turning down the volume on _Lilo & Stitch_.

She watches him intently as he calls his dad back, holding his phone up to his ear. Judging by the look of slight surprise on his face, his dad must pick up after the first or second ring. Éponine cocks her head to the side, reading Enjolras’ face as he speaks to his dad.

“Hi, Dad. I’m sorry about missing your calls, I put my phone on silent. I’ve just been in the shower… Dad?” Éponine frowns as the neutral look on Enjolras’ face morphs into one of concern. “Dad, are you alright?” She really wants to hear what Matthieu is saying on the other end, biting her lip, her throat tightening as Enjolras grows increasingly panicked. “Dad, what’s happened? Are you okay? What is it?” She thinks she realises it a split second before he does and she can’t breathe now, knowing that there’s only one thing that can make him start hyperventilating like this, make his blue eyes rapidly grow glassy with tears. No. This isn’t happening. This _can’t_ be happening. “Dad, _what is it_?”

For the rest of her life, Éponine will never be able to forget the look on Enjolras’ ashen face as his shaking hand drops his phone, barely giving her time to jump out of her bed and rush over to him to wrap her arms around him as he collapses to the floor, and she holds him tight in her arms, the only noise in the room being the sound of his anguished sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry.
> 
> (also, fun fact, during my first trip to disney world back in 2010, it actually did rain the whole day while i was in animal kingdom. just a little detail from my own life that i incorporated into the fic.)


	17. a funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief hits hard. Enjolras never knew just how hard until his mother is six feet under.

* * *

It almost feels like the bright sunlight and azure skies are mocking them when they put Lucie Enjolras in the ground.

They stand there in the cemetery, dressed in black, heads bowed in silent prayer, not a single dry eye to be found. The summer breeze gently blows past them, the evergreen leaves of nearby trees rustling in the wind.

Enjolras grips Éponine’s hand like a lifeline as he watches his mother’s casket being lowered into the ground, watches dirt fill the earth, watches the soil being smoothed over and obscured by wreaths of flowers. He forces himself to stay collected, to remain stoic, for his father’s sake. Glancing sideways, he feels that familiar sting behind his eyes when he sees Matthieu silently weeping, tears streaking his cheeks. He rapidly blinks his own tears away. He’s already gotten this far without completely falling apart, having read the eulogy earlier during the ceremony at his father’s request. After the burial, they’ll go back to the Upper East Side penthouse for a small wake among close family and friends.

Éponine squeezes Enjolras’ hand, letting a few tears fall as she gazes down at the spot where Lucie was buried mere moments ago. She’s taken a few weeks off work to be there for him, to keep him company. Her gaze flits around to the others present, something tugging at her heartstrings all the while. Friends and family gathered together to mourn. His little cousins with their parents, not quite understanding what’s going on. His maternal grandmother, making next to no effort to hide her tears. Cosette clinging to Fantine’s arm, twin heads of golden hair, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. Marius beside them, eyes red-rimmed, no doubt reliving his own grief from when his father passed away when he was only sixteen. Matthieu, overwhelmed with grief and furiously dabbing at his eyes, only for the tears to keep coming. Éponine leans her head against Enjolras’ shoulder, her fingers tightly entwined in his.

She feels him suck in a deep, shaking breath and gives his hand another squeeze, silently telling him that she’s here for him, that she’ll always be here for him. They’ll get through this no matter how long it takes.

 _In loving memory of Lucie Émilie Enjolras (née Deschamps)_ _  
__Beloved wife, mother, sister, and daughter_

They stick around for a little while after the committal service is over, taking the time to allow themselves to process it some more before taking off for the wake. The others wander off while Matthieu steadfastly remains by his wife’s grave, wanting some time alone, lost in thought. Éponine leads Enjolras a little farther away, not as far as the others are, but just enough to give his father some privacy. She gives his hand another squeeze and peers up at him, biting her lip. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly.

He shrugs, tears pooling in his eyes before he blinks them away. “I don’t know. Numb.”

She rubs circles into the back of his hand with her thumb, reaching up with her other hand to brush some hair out of his face. It’s the first time he’s spoken since he gave the eulogy earlier that day. Up until now, he’s only responded to people’s attempts at speaking to him with a nod or shake of his head. It’s a start.

Unable to come up with anything better to say, at a loss for the right words, she leans forward and wordlessly pulls him into a hug, letting go of his hand to wrap her arms tight around him. He readily returns it, sinking into her embrace and leaning down to bury his face in her shoulder, screwing his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. She rubs his back, inhaling, exhaling. “I love you,” she whispers.

He manages the tiniest smile, hugging her tighter. “I love you, too.”

It’s nearing noon now and they really begin to feel the heat, exacerbated by their black clothes. Her in a modest, long-sleeved, knee-length black dress and flats. Him in leather Oxfords and a long-sleeved black button-up tucked into black slacks. After several long moments, Éponine finally detaches herself from Enjolras, looking up into his blue eyes and mustering a tiny encouraging smile. “Time to go?”

He exhales and slowly nods. “Just about, I think.”

His hand finds hers again. He doesn’t let go as they walk over to his father to tell him that they should really be going back for the wake now, doesn’t let go as they get into the backseat of a taxi that proceeds to take them to the Upper East Side, doesn’t let go as they join the first group taking the elevator upstairs to the penthouse. Everything has already been set up, from the food placed on tables lined up against the wall to the blown-up photographs decorating the living room to the soft music playing faintly in the background. Enjolras’ breath catches at the sight of all those pictures of his mother. He’s not sure what to think.

Éponine looks up at him, watching him intently. “We have to get out of the elevator, Gabriel,” she quietly reminds him.

“What?” He looks around and only now realises how they’re the only ones left standing there, the others having exited into the apartment. Hastily, he steps out with Éponine, turning back to watch how the elevator door slides shut. No doubt off to pick up the next group of guests.

They go slowly around the living room, occasionally stopping to speak to guests—well, Éponine speaks to them while Enjolras stays silent at her side, nearly catatonic. She grabs a few mozzarella sticks and tries to coax him into eating at least one, having noticed that morning how he didn’t touch his breakfast. He takes one, if only to make her stop worrying. He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately.

They gaze at the photographs of his mother, enlarged and propped up on display easels throughout the massive living room. A heavily pregnant Lucie standing on the front steps of what Éponine can only assume is their (enormous, absolutely _gorgeous_ ) mansion down in New Orleans, cradling her baby bump and smiling. Lucie in an armchair, gazing thoughtfully out a window as the late-afternoon sunlight paints her golden. Lucie sitting in a hospital bed hours after giving birth, holding a newborn Enjolras in her arms, exhausted but joyful, beaming at the camera. Lucie on the beach, gazing out at the ocean, a faraway look in her blue eyes and her blonde hair blowing in the summer wind. Among so many others. Enjolras can barely stand to look at them. The grief is still too fresh.

Éponine gently nudges him to alert him of how someone else has approached them, and he turns to find himself face to face with one of his father’s closer coworker friends, a man who appears to be in his mid-fifties with smooth brown skin and a sensible buzz-cut. “I’m truly sorry about your loss,” the man tells him. “Your mother was a wonderful woman.”

Enjolras manages a gracious, if rather tight, smile, having already heard numerous variations of those words a thousand times before in the past week. Éponine speaks up for him, saying, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

The man nods slowly, looking back and forth between Éponine and Enjolras. Clearly, he’s trying to figure out what the exact nature of their relationship is. Neither of them really have the energy to clarify that they aren’t a couple, not today. Let people think what they want to think.

Shortly before Matthieu is about to make a small speech set to a picture slideshow, Enjolras approaches him and tells him quietly, “Dad, I’m going upstairs to my room. If that’s okay.”

Matthieu watches his son’s face for a few moments before he nods, swallowing the fresh lump in his throat. “Of course. Anything you need.”

Enjolras tries for a tiny smile but can’t quite manage it before he turns and heads upstairs, Éponine close at his heels. They find that his childhood bedroom has been untouched, looking exactly as he left it from the last time he stayed over. He’s already sitting at the edge of his bed by the time she closes the door behind her, his eyes staring blankly out the huge windows, staring off into space. And then his shoulders start shaking.

She immediately goes over to sit beside him after taking her shoes off by the door and wrap her arms around him as he finally breaks down, shaking, trembling from the force of his quiet sobs. She lets him bury his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking into her dress, and she rubs his back, letting herself cry as well. Every time it seems like his tears are subsiding, a fresh wave hits and he starts shaking all over again, undignified, despairing. It tears her heart into two.

After several minutes, he finally pulls back, having started to hiccup. He’s dishevelled, tears staining his cheeks, his nose red, blond curls unkempt and falling into his bloodshot eyes. He notices her staring and bites his lip. “I look awful, don’t I?” he murmurs in a feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

She purses her lips and shrugs. “You’ve looked better.”

He gives a tiny smile at that, exhaling. “I just… I don’t want to believe it. That she’s really gone. Sometimes I still feel like she’s going to walk through that door and tell me she’s made us brownies that we’ll end up not eating because we’ve been scarred forever by that incident with the pot brownies two years back.”

She laughs quietly and rubs his back, unsure of what to say. Without thinking, she blurts out, “This _sucks_ , doesn’t it?”

Her spirits lift ever so slightly at how that manages to draw a watery laugh out of him, and he nods. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It does.”

He can’t help but think back to the day he got that awful call from his father. How they’d just gotten back to the hotel and washed off after a long day spent at Disney World, making plans for the next two days before they go home. Her holding him tight in her arms when he dropped his phone and fell to the floor in tears. Booking the fastest flight home, still deep in denial. Immediately going to his parents’ place and being greeted at the elevator by his distraught father, how he’d taken one look at his son and immediately started crying, reducing him to tears as well. And now here they are one week later.

He takes in several deep, shaky breaths. He can’t help but imagine his mother in her final moments. He wonders what she might have said to him if he’d been there with his father at her bedside.

“I never even got to say goodbye,” he chokes out, bowing his head as his sobs return in full force.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “C’mere.” She pulls him back into a hug, rubbing his back as he buries his face in her shoulder again. Quiet sobs wrack his whole body as she gently shushes him, desperately searching for the right words. She can’t find them no matter how hard she tries, rendered speechless. So she can only hold him, let him let it all out.

“I miss her, Nina,” Enjolras whispers hoarsely. “I miss her so much.”

Éponine nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know. I miss her too.” She presses her lips into his hair in a tender kiss. “I… I really wish I had the right words, Gabriel. Just know that I care. I love you. I’m here.”

His mouth forms a tiny, melancholy smile as he nods. She cares. She loves him. She’s here. That’s something.

It’s nearing seven o’clock when they get home that night, Gavroche immediately shutting himself up in his bedroom to try and get some last-minute summer reading done before his sophomore year begins in four days. Enjolras sits there at the breakfast bar, aimless, while Éponine makes an attempt at chicken stir-fry, neither of them having had dinner yet. She sits down with him at the counter to eat, silence falling between them. Her stir-fry isn’t half bad, he finds. Once they’re done, she rinses off their plates and cutlery and sticks them in the dishwasher before going to sit down with him on the sofa, taking his hand.

She burrows her head into the crook of his neck and curls up beside him, her thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand. Letting her actions tell him what words can’t. He feels like he’s five years old again when he murmurs, “I’m tired, Nina.”

She lifts her head to softly kiss his cheek. “Let’s get some sleep, then.”

She gets up and helps him to his feet, gently guiding him to his bedroom, staying by his side as he gets into bed. She’s just about to turn and exit when he calls out her name. “Nina, wait.”

She takes his hand and squeezes it. “What is it?”

She thinks there’s a faint blush colouring his cheeks when he asks nearly inaudibly, “Can you stay?”

She hesitates for several moments before giving in at the look in his blue eyes, so desperate for someone to just be there with him. Climbing into bed beside him, she makes herself comfortable, snuggling up to him and laying her head on his chest. Through his T-shirt, she can feel his heartbeat pick up speed for a few moments before it gradually settles down again as his arms wrap around her, holding her close.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, prompting her to look up and meet his eyes. “For being here.”

She smiles at him, soft, genuine. “I’m always here for you,” she tells him tenderly. “I’ll always be here for you.” She leans up, and for a breathless moment there, he deludes himself into thinking she might kiss him, but instead, her lips land on his cheek instead of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Gabe.”

“I know.” His arms wrap tighter around her as she lays her head on his chest once again. For a few moments, there’s nothing but silence. Blissful silence. It isn’t suffocating; on the contrary, it comforts her, comforts them both. And then the quiet sound of his voice gently cuts through it.

“I love you, Nina.”

Her heart skips a beat. She leans into him even more, feeling his steady breaths.

“I love you too, Gabriel.”

* * *

More out of instinct than anything else, the two of them settle into a routine: they wake up, she makes him breakfast, they go to visit his father on most days, she occasionally manages to coax him into going for a walk in Central Park to get some fresh air, they go home, she either orders takeout or cooks dinner for themselves, they go to bed. She sleeps in his bed with him, chastely, knowing how badly he needs someone there with him right now, someone to hold him close, to ease the pain, even if only a little bit.

While Gavroche has started his sophomore year of high school, for Éponine and Enjolras, law school doesn’t start for another two weeks, so they sleep in, often until noon. With everything that’s happened, he’s grateful for the two-week respite. He has more time to let it all sink in.

On Gavroche’s first day of school, he pops into Éponine’s room to tell her he’s leaving and he’ll see her in seven hours only to find her bed empty, without a trace of having been slept in. Curious, he goes to Enjolras’ room and cracks open the door, careful not to make any noise. He’s greeted by the sight of Éponine and Enjolras fast asleep, practically dead to the world, with her head resting against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her, the two of them breathing in sync. It’s _adorable_. It’s kind of nasty how adorable it is. Gavroche catches himself staring.

Snapping out of it, he quickly takes a couple of pictures with his phone to send to Azelma later before he hightails it out of the apartment, not wishing to be later for school than he already is. Éponine and Enjolras remain blissfully unaware of how Gavroche spied on them for like three minutes that morning when they wake up two hours later at nine, sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Éponine wakes up first, eyes slowly blinking open as she lets out a colossal yawn, reaching up with her hand to cover her mouth. Smacking her lips and settling back down, she gazes up at Enjolras, finding him still deep in slumber. She rather likes watching him sleep. Chest rising and falling with steady breaths, mouth just slightly agape and drawing attention somewhat to the prominent Cupid’s bow of his upper lip, blond curls falling into his eyes and framing his handsome face, long golden lashes fluttering. He looks like an honest-to-God angel.

She startles a little when he wakes up quite a few moments later, hoping he doesn’t notice how intently she’s been watching him sleep as he blinks, once, twice, bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. He struggles to keep his eyes open as his gaze falls on her, and her breath catches in her throat when his lips form the tiniest smile, even if it’s a little half-hearted. “Good morning,” he murmurs.

She gives a small smile back. “Morning,” she whispers.

She lays her head back down on his chest, feels his heart beating, wonders if he can sense how her breathing has gone rather shallow. They don’t know how long they stay like that before she’s sitting up and saying quietly, “I think it’s high time we get some food in our systems.”

Something heavy settles in his chest, not quite wanting to get out of bed anytime soon, or ever, but he nods along and sits up anyway. “Yes, I think so too.”

She has to physically pull him to his feet once he listlessly swings his legs over the edge of the bed. It aches to see him so drained of energy. Maybe she can somehow talk him into going to therapy more than once a week. He seems like he could benefit from that.

He sits down at the breakfast bar, lethargic as he checks his social media just to get rid of the notifications, while she gets to work making some oatmeal. Halfway through making it, her phone buzzes on the counter and she takes a quick break to see what it is. She finds a text from Azelma.

**bitch 😘: gav sent this to me this morning pls explain**

Attached is a photograph of her and Enjolras sleeping soundly in each other’s arms. Practically clinging to one another. She feels her cheeks grow warm. Were they really that wrapped up in each other that morning?

**me: wtf is gav doing snooping around and taking pictures of me sleeping?? tell the little creep to mind his own business**

**bitch 😘: u tell him urself**

**bitch 😘: apparently he was going to tell u he was leaving for school 🤷🏻‍♀️**

**bitch 😘: but he didnt want to wake u up bc u two looked so cute and cozy and gross**

**bitch 😘: so whens the wedding**

**bitch 😘: i better be moh**

Éponine rolls her eyes as she stirs the oatmeal, careful not to let it burn. Thankfully her back is to Enjolras, so he can’t see the blush colouring her cheeks.

**me: go fuck yourself**

**me: he is in a very fragile state right now**

**me: he needs emotional support**

**bitch 😘: so ur like his emotional support animal then**

Enjolras looks up, startled, when Éponine makes a funny, indignant little noise from the back of her throat. He wonders whom she’s texting for her to be glaring so viciously at her phone screen.

**me: you’re impossible**

**me: his MOM just DIED**

**me: give him a fucking break**

**me: damn**

**bitch 😘: jesus ok no need to get all pissy about it**

**bitch 😘: im sad abt his mom too u no**

**bitch 😘: even if i didnt no her as well as u did**

**bitch 😘: she was always nice to me**

**bitch 😘: also u never actually explained the pic. so. care to explain now??**

Éponine sighs, turning off the stove. The oatmeal looks just about done anyway.

**me: he just needs someone to be there for him. that’s all.**

**bitch 😘: fine, point taken**

**bitch 😘: as u were ✌🏼**

Éponine rolls her eyes and generously scoops oatmeal into two bowls, bringing them over to Enjolras and sitting down beside him to eat. He eyes her phone as she sets it down on the granite countertop. “Who were you texting?” he asks, vague curiosity in his tone.

“Azelma,” she replies, spooning some oatmeal into her mouth. “She called me your emotional support animal.”

At that, he lets out an involuntary laugh, small but genuine. It’s the first time he’s really laughed in what feels like ages. She’s a little miffed that it had to be at her expense, though.

“It’s _not funny_ ,” she says, rather sour. “She basically called me your bitch!”

He laughs again, softly, and shakes his head. He’d ask for context, but he’s not sure if he even wants to know. So he doesn’t.

They eat in silence, side by side, occasionally looking at their phones but soon getting burned out after running out of apps to refresh. After a while, when she’s scraping the last of her oatmeal off the bottom of her bowl, she asks softly, “Do you want to go see your dad today?”

He shrugs, staring at his empty bowl. “I might as well. It’s not as if I’ve got anything else to do.”

She’s not sure what he means by that. “So… do you or do you not want to go see him?” she asks, a little confused. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” he hastily clarifies, running his fingers through his hair absent-mindedly. Some part of her offhandedly wonders if he really is oblivious to how damn hot he looks when he does that. “He’s all alone up there now…” He trails off, a lump forming in his throat and rendering him unable to say anything more.

Éponine takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, sweet and reassuring. Enjolras turns his head to gaze down at her, the ghost of a feeble smile on his lips when he meets her eyes. After several moments, he averts his gaze as he chews on his bottom lip, the air seeming a bit thin right now.

“I think I’ll go shower,” he murmurs, sliding off the bar stool and letting go of her hand.

She nods at him. “I’ll be here.”

It’s almost an hour later when they finally take off to his dad’s place, opting to take the subway instead of driving, which they’ve been doing rather often lately. They sit in a corner of a train car, her head on his shoulder. He wonders how he’ll manage to get himself together in time for law school, if this is the rate at which he’s going. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

They stop by to chat with the doorman for a bit—well, she’s the one doing the chatting while he just stands there and nods along, rather laconic with his responses the few times the doorman addresses him directly—before he sends them on their way up to the penthouse. Upon stepping out of the elevator, they find Matthieu there in the middle of the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, paging through an enormous leather-bound photo album. He only looks up and notices them when Enjolras calls out to him.

“Oh, hello.” Matthieu waves them over, inviting them to come sit with him, telling them, “I’ve just… I’ve just been sorting through Lucie’s things.” His voice cracks slightly on Lucie’s name. Enjolras sits down next to his father and gives him a quick hug.

“You seem to have gotten distracted,” Enjolras says lightly, cracking a tiny smile as he gazes at the photographs of his mother on the yellowed pages, dating all the way back to before he was even born.

Éponine sits down beside Enjolras and crosses her legs, leaning her head on his shoulder as she looks at the countless photographs of Lucie. She points at one particular picture, asking Matthieu, “When is this one from?”

“Hm?” His gaze drifts to the Polaroid Éponine is pointing at, and a corner of his mouth turns slightly upward, his small smile tinged with melancholy. “Oh. I took that the day I proposed to her.” He chuckles softly to himself. “She was in her last semester of college while I was working my way through medical school. We’d been together for about three years at that point. Known each other for a little longer, though. Five years.”

Éponine gazes at the photograph, takes it in. Lucie, with her golden hair framing her face in loose curls, dressed in a grey wool coat and a navy-blue scarf, giving the camera a bright, toothy smile, something Enjolras had inherited from her. “You were friends first?”

“Yes.” Matthieu breathes out a sigh, rather forlorn. “She was my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had.” He tries to smile, gazing at the yellowed pages. “Did you know that Lucie means ‘light’?”

“Yeah,” Éponine murmurs, a corner of her mouth lifting up in a slight smile. “Gabriel talked about it in the eulogy.”

“Right.” Matthieu chuckles again, rather half-hearted. “Well, that’s exactly what she was. She lit up every room she walked into.”

Enjolras remains silent, his gaze flicking back and forth between his father and the photographs of his mother. Matthieu runs his fingers over a picture that could have only been taken directly after he proposed, with how in it, they’re both laughing and her left hand clutches the lapel of his coat, showing off her engagement ring. Lucie and Matthieu had been beautiful in their youth. Enjolras clearly won the genetic lottery there. As he gazes down at the photograph, Matthieu murmurs, “I proposed to her with an opal because I knew she hated diamonds.” He laughs quietly. “But I suppose she didn’t mind it if they were pavé diamonds.”

Éponine lets out a little laugh at that. She remembers admiring Lucie’s engagement ring back when she was nine years old, when she showed it to her up close after she asked if she could see it, pretty please. She remembers thinking she wants to be proposed to with a ring just like that one when she’s older. “For what it’s worth, I think diamonds are overrated as well.”

That draws a smile from Matthieu, however small. “Well, how about that, Gabriel?”

“What?” Enjolras startles at the sound of his name, looking up through wide blue eyes. Is his dad teasing him? He’s definitely teasing him. His cheeks flush.

Matthieu just gives him a knowing smile and turns back to the photo album, flipping through it and occasionally explaining the context of the photographs. Éponine listens attentively, but after some time, Enjolras gets up to wander the living room, coming to a stop at the piano.

He sits down on the piano bench, opening it and lightly running his fingers over the keys. His heart grows heavy with all the memories of his mother that come rushing back. When she sat him down right here back when he was five years old to teach him how to play at his request. How she’d sometimes play a tune or two during the house parties his parents often hosted while he was growing up. All the times she requested for him to play her something as she got sicker and sicker, to lift their spirits during the particularly difficult times.

He senses tears pricking at his eyes and takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly, calming himself. He doesn’t notice his father and Éponine watching him from the distance.

“Gabriel,” Matthieu says, bringing him out of his trance. Enjolras jumps, a bit startled. His father just laughs quietly and beckons him over.

“Why don’t you take the piano?” he suggests once Enjolras sits back down next to him.

His eyebrows furrow in slight disbelief. “Really?”

Matthieu shrugs. “Of course. It’s not as if I play,” he points out in a voice hardly above a murmur, laughing rather self-deprecatingly. “Your mother… She would have wanted you to have it.”

Enjolras swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. All he can do is nod wordlessly.

A couple of hours later, Matthieu makes them lunch, and the three of them sit down at the rarely-used dining table to eat their meal. They stick around for a little while longer after that before they decide to finally go home, and as Matthieu accompanies them to the elevator, he tells Enjolras, “I’ll have movers deliver the piano to your place sometime this week.”

Enjolras nods, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Okay. Thank you, Dad.”

Matthieu gives him a gentle smile, pulling him into a hug. Enjolras tenses up momentarily before he returns his father’s embrace, laying his head down on his shoulder and letting out a deep sigh. Éponine watches them both, arms locked across her chest, wishing she could do more to ease their pain. After stepping in to give Matthieu a hug of her own, she and Enjolras get into the elevator and wave him goodbye as the door closes. On their way out of the building, Éponine links her arm through Enjolras’ and rests her head on his shoulder as they continue to the subway.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” he murmurs as the train rushes through the tunnels, rattling.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Cook something and then binge-watch some movies? All those teen romcoms we loved back when we were in high school. You know, _Mean Girls_ , _Ten Things I Hate About You_ , _Say Anything…_ ” She looks up, meeting his eyes. “Why, what do _you_ want to do?”

He juts out his bottom lip ever so slightly, shrugging. “I’m up for anything, really. Cooking and a movie marathon sounds good.”

“You sure?” She purses her lips, a little doubtful. “Because we can totally do something else if that’s not what you want to do—”

“Nina! Really.” He takes her hand and looks into her eyes. He thinks he might imagine her breath catching a little when his eyes find hers. “Your idea sounds great. Let’s go with that.”

She still looks rather unsure. “Are you _sure_?”

He nods, and then laughs a little. “Really, Nina.” He doesn’t have the energy to come up with anything else anyway. He’ll gladly let her be the one making decisions for the both of them for the next couple of months or so.

Once they get home, he teaches her how to make macaroni and cheese from scratch using his mother’s old recipe. Apparently, her secret ingredient is crushed salt-and-vinegar potato chips sprinkled along the top. As they sit down on the sofa in front of the TV, he thinks they’ve done a pretty good job of making the mac and cheese taste like it did whenever his mother made it for them when they were kids.

A quick glance at the clock tells them that it’s well past ten at night by the time the credits roll on _Easy A_ , and it seems like Éponine’s abandoned all pretence of actually watching the movie, with how a couple of hours back, halfway through _Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging_ , she disappeared into her room for a bit and emerged with her guitar. Enjolras watches her intently as she strums on it now, seeming not to really pay attention to anything in particular. Eventually, she notices him watching her. She scrunches up her face and throws him a cheeky grin, beginning to pluck out a tune.

He recognises the song five seconds in. He’s never heard it played on the guitar before. She doesn’t sing or even hum along, even though he knows she’s more than capable of carrying a tune thanks to their high school musical productions way back. (He rather dearly remembers the one and only time she’d performed in a principal role. It had been in the production of _West Side Story_ the drama department had put on in the spring of their junior year, in which he’d played Tony, and as understudy, she’d stepped in as Anita on closing night when the girl playing her had unexpectedly fallen sick. There’s a photograph of them standing side by side, still in costume and holding bouquets his parents had gotten for them, framed on his bedroom dresser.)

He hugs a throw pillow to his chest as he listens to her plucking out that familiar melody on her guitar, nimble fingers moving across the strings with ease. It’s nice; calming. They both remain oblivious to the soft, completely enamoured smile on his face as he listens to her play.

 _Lights will guide you home  
_ _And ignite your bones  
_ _And I will try to fix you_


	18. a familiar feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start law school and Éponine meets someone new. Try as he might, Enjolras just can’t find it in himself to be as happy for her as he knows he should be.

* * *

When they start law school, Enjolras is actually glad for the intense workload for providing him with a helpful distraction from his grief, burying himself in his work to keep busy.

Éponine can’t quite get on board with his methods.

It’s barely been two weeks since they started law school, with him at Columbia and her at NYU, and already, he’s started burning the midnight oil working on assignments and such. She sometimes gets up at odd hours in the night for a midnight snack, and more often than not, she’d walk into the kitchen to find him sitting there at the breakfast bar, poring over his coursebooks. Honestly, they’re not even a month into school and he’s already throwing himself into his work.

At eleven o’clock one Saturday night, she returns home after complaining to Grantaire about the challenges she’s faced thus far at law school over drinks at the bar. Still a bit tipsy, she facetiously calls out, not really expecting a response, “Honey, I’m home!”

“What?” Enjolras calls back, making her stop in her tracks.

Éponine’s eyebrows furrow as she stumbles around the foyer trying to unlace her cherry-red Doc Martens while standing up, soon tossing the combat boots aside as she trips into the living room. The sight of Enjolras sitting there at his regular spot at the breakfast bar, open coursebooks and two semi-crushed cans of Red Bull spread out on the granite as he absently taps his pen against a worksheet, greets her. She narrows her eyes as she approaches.

“What are you doing?” she asks. It’s a stupid question, she knows. But she’s never liked seeing him overwork himself almost to the point of exhaustion.

He tears his gaze away from the worksheet to look up at her. “Working,” he says. Moments later, he lightly adds, “It’s one step towards saving the world, right?”

She glances at the digital clock propped up on the edge of the counter and then back at him, pursing her lips. “It’s fifteen minutes past eleven.”

He runs his fingers through his curls, pushing his hair out of his face. His blue eyes are bloodshot. “So?”

“ _So_ , you need to get some damn rest and leave this to tomorrow,” she says firmly, grabbing one of his coursebooks and slamming it shut despite his small cry of protest. It’s heavy as fuck, and she hugs it to her chest to keep him from trying to grab it back.

“Éponine, what the hell?” It’s phrased as a question, but his intonation makes the words fall flat. He stares at her in disbelief as he asks, “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into _you_?” she retorts, taking the rest of his coursebooks and tossing them all onto a nearby armchair. “Ever since we started law school, you’ve been staying up late working on shit. When is this assignment due, anyway?”

He avoids her intense gaze, looking down into his lap and rubbing at the tattoo on his inner wrist as he mumbles, “Next Friday.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” she questions, not unkindly. “You’ve still got plenty of time to finish this.”

Enjolras bites his lip and keeps dodging eye contact. “Have you ever considered that maybe I just want to have this done with as soon as possible?” He winces at how his words come out more biting than he intended them to. To her credit, she ignores it.

Éponine stares at him, attempting to make sense of his logic. “You can still do that without constantly staying up late, you know.” When he doesn’t respond, she emphatically goes on, “This isn’t healthy, Gabriel. You have to manage your time better. You need _rest_ , for God’s sake. You know how much more work you could get done if you’re actually well-rested? No, because you’ve never tried.”

He finally looks up and meets her gaze, rather taken aback by the fire in her dark eyes. “I can’t sleep,” he says at last, drawing a sharp breath. “Every time I try, I just… I’d lie there on my bed and think about my mom. And I’d end up feeling guilty all over again about not being there with her in those last few days. So I work on schoolwork to distract myself.”

She frowns, reaching out to place a hand on his back, rubbing it as she gently enquires, “And when you finish everything? What will you do then?”

He averts his eyes and hangs his head, giving a feeble shrug. “I don’t know.”

Éponine gazes at him for several moments, unsure of what to say, before she wordlessly steps forward and wraps her arms around him. Enjolras sinks into her embrace, laying his head on her shoulder and heaving a sigh. She cradles the back of his head, threading her fingers through his blond curls, and murmurs, “Do you need someone there with you? I can sleep in your bed with you if you want.” Honestly, she doesn’t know why she stopped doing so when school started.

He draws back to gaze at her, his heart rate rising just a little. “That would be nice,” he manages to get out after several moments. “I’d like that.”

She smiles at him and kisses his forehead, and his heart nearly stops. “If I do, you have to promise me you won’t overwork yourself,” she tells him stoutly. “You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, Gabriel.”

He rolls his eyes and quietly laughs. “Alright, I promise.”

She grins and pats him on the head. “Okay, then. I’m going to go shower now.” She gives him a pointed look as she says, “By the time I get out of the bathroom, you better be in bed.”

He rolls his eyes again, letting out a tiny snort. “Fine. I will be.”

“Good boy.”

“I’m not a dog, Nina.”

“No, you’re not. You’re better.”

Try as he might, he can’t hold back a smile as he watches her traipse down the hallway, and he gathers his things to neatly put them away, his gaze lingering on her disappearing into the bathroom.

* * *

“So where do you think we could meet up? To practise our arguments, I mean.”

Two weeks into school, their Legal Research and Writing professor has given them partner assignments, pairing up the students alphabetically. Apparently, they’ll be working with the same partner during the entire course on a variety of mock trial cases. It’s a Friday afternoon, shortly after classes came to an end, and Éponine listens intently to her partner over coffee at the Café Musain. A small part of her feels like she’s somehow betraying her friends by bringing her partner here, considering how this has been a haven of sorts for them since high school, but she quickly dismisses those feelings as ridiculous. This is a public space, and she works here, for God’s sake. Though she’s off her shift at the moment.

Éponine watches her partner. Valérie Thibault, with her tall, slim frame, abundance of freckles against pale skin, huge green eyes, and waves of vibrant red hair, quite a few shades lighter than Azelma’s dark copper-red curls, Éponine notes. She’s beautiful. Éponine thinks she might have been giving her the eye when they first got paired up, but in hindsight, that was probably just a fleeting moment of hubris. At least, that’s probably how Grantaire would explain it, she thinks wryly. But Grantaire’s full of shit more often than not.

“All the study rooms at the library are booked,” Valérie frets, checking her phone.

Éponine takes a sip of her iced latte macchiato, suggesting uncertainly, “We could do it at your place…?”

Valérie smiles, a little sheepish. “I live in a tiny walk-up with two roommates. They can get kind of loud. I’m not sure they’d appreciate the intrusion. Not that you would be intruding or anything,” she amends, giggling at how Éponine raises her eyebrows. “It’s just that… we’re cramped enough already as it is.”

“No, I get that,” Éponine says, remembering all the years stuck in her parents’ tiny hovel, crammed into a bedroom the size of Enjolras’ parents’ walk-in closet with her siblings. “So… my place, then?”

Valérie juts out her bottom lip slightly, almost mischievously as her eyebrows furrow. “Will it be quiet? Do you live alone?”

“Well, no.” She can sense a blush rising to her cheeks. She tries fighting it. “About the living alone part, I mean. I promise it’ll be quiet, though, that part won’t be a problem. It’s just that I live with my little brother and my best friend.”

When Valérie gives her a playfully questioning look, Éponine rapidly explains, “I have custody of him. My brother, I mean. He’s fifteen. In his sophomore year of high school. I have a sister, too. She’s twenty. Just started her junior year, actually. Of college.” She composes herself. “Anyway, doing it at my place wouldn’t be a problem. We’ve got this place in the Village. It’s pretty nice, if I do say so myself. There’s enough room for everybody.”

“Okay, then.” Valérie beams at her. Her dazzling smile reminds Éponine somewhat of Cosette’s. “When can we start?”

“You can come over right now, if you want,” Éponine says rather unthinkingly. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Alright, then.” Valérie gives her an odd look, looking torn between intrigue and not knowing what to think of her. That’s fair. Éponine isn’t the most predictable person.

She downs the rest of her drink as Valérie does the same, and soon after, they’re walking out of the coffee shop and onto the subway platform. Éponine occasionally steals glances up at Valérie as she grips one of the metal poles to keep herself from toppling over as the train rattles and shudders down the tracks. The redhead is a good four inches taller than she is.

She can hear Taylor Swift playing over a speaker somewhere in the kitchen the moment she steps foot into the apartment, immediately alerting her to the fact that Enjolras is already home. A grin breaks out across her face as she haphazardly unlaces and kicks off her black Chucks before she darts down the hallway and into the living room, where Enjolras meets her in the middle. He lets out a soft “oof” when she throws her arms around him and has the breath knocked out of his lungs momentarily, laughing softly as he hugs her back.

“Gabriel! I missed you,” she tells him, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He laughs a little incredulously. “Nina, we saw each other this morning. It hasn’t even been twelve hours.”

“So? Am I not allowed to miss you?” Éponine draws back and raises her eyebrows at him. Enjolras just laughs again and rolls his eyes.

“We spent the majority of the past four years three thousand miles apart from each other,” he reminds her.

“Exactly. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Whatever you say, Nina.”

She grins up at him, amused by the way his cheeks turn a little pink at her intense gaze, before she remembers Valérie. “Oh, my God, I’m a terrible partner,” she mutters out of the blue, immediately detaching herself from Enjolras to dart back into the foyer, with him close behind her. Valérie is still there, her flats placed neatly by the front door. She’s closely observing the framed photographs on the wall.

“Is this you?” she asks Éponine, her lips twitching in an effort to suppress a smile. Éponine follows Valérie’s gaze to the photograph of her and Enjolras at his second-grade birthday party, when he’d turned eight. The picture immortalises the exact moment she blew out the candles for him and he screamed in protest. Éponine snorts a little at the memory.

“Why, yes, it is,” she blithely confirms.

“And who’s this?” Valérie questions, pointing at the eight-year-old boy with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“That would be me.” Valérie jumps a little at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning to see a much older version of the boy in the photograph standing there, a few steps behind Éponine. He gives her a tiny, polite smile. “Gabriel Enjolras. You can call me Enjolras.”

“Valérie Thibault,” she replies, thrusting her hand out to shake his.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says courteously.

She musters a hesitant smile. “Likewise.”

“Gabe’s in law school too,” Éponine helpfully supplies. “But he goes to Columbia, because he’s a million times smarter than I could ever hope to be.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. She’s so much smarter than she thinks she is. “Don’t talk like that, Nina. You’re as smart as I am.”

Valérie giggles a little, tilting her head questioningly. “Nina?”

Éponine laughs and goes over to Enjolras, putting her arm around his waist. He instinctively slides his arm around her shoulders. “He’s the only person who still calls me that, really. Just about everyone used to call me Nina when we were little, but he’s the only one who still does.” She looks up at him and grins. “Nina and Gabe, joined at the hip since we were five. Except for when he _left_ me to go to Stanford for undergrad.”

Enjolras gives her a _look_. “Might I remind you that you were the one who threatened to never speak to me again if I passed up Stanford?”

Éponine wrinkles her nose at him. “Technicalities.”

Valérie laughs at their banter. “So I take it this is the aforementioned best friend whom you live with?”

“Sure is!” Éponine chirps, reaching up to boop Enjolras’ nose and giggling at how he scrunches up his face in response. “Anyway, Gabriel, Valérie’s my partner for our mock trials in Legal Research and Writing. So. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of her in the next several months.”

He chuckles softly. “Alright, then.”

“Right!” Éponine detaches herself from him and makes her way back into the living room, the other two following her. “Didn’t expect you to be home so early,” she calls over her shoulder at Enjolras, sniffing the air and gravitating towards the kitchen. “What have you been doing?”

“I baked two batches of snickerdoodles, if you want that,” he replies, watching out of the corner of his eye as Valérie’s gaze drifts around the living room and lands on the pride flags hanging on the wall above the sofa. “Gavroche is still at soccer practice, from what Adrien told me.”

“Good to know,” Éponine says through a mouthful of cookie, having grabbed a few off the plates set out on the kitchen counter. “You coming?” she asks Valérie, not really waiting for a response as she traipses down the hall to her bedroom. Valérie follows her, and Enjolras watches as she closes the door behind her and he’s left alone again in the living room.

Éponine leaps onto her bed, all sprawled out as she watches Valérie taking in her bedroom. “I know it’s not the cleanest,” she says, rather sheepish. “But I swear I do clean my room from time to time. Like. Once a week. Although Gabe would probably slander me and say it’s closer to once a month.”

Valérie laughs. “You two seem awfully close,” she comments as her eyes sweep over the photographs on the ribbon bulletin board, her gaze lingering on a four-picture photo booth strip of them. In the first three photos, they’re pulling ridiculous faces at the camera, sticking their tongues out, sucking their cheeks in, cross-eyed. In the fourth, he’s blushing pink, eyes squeezed shut, lips forming a goofy smile, while she’s got her arms wrapped around him from the side, her lips pressed to his cheek.

“He’s the most important person in the universe to me,” Éponine says, following Valérie’s gaze and smiling at the photo booth strip. She’s always loved taking pictures in photo booths. She’s dragged Enjolras into many a photo booth over the years. “Not counting my siblings, obviously.”

Valérie smiles, sitting down at the edge of Éponine’s queen-size bed. “So about those pride flags in the living room…”

“Bi flag’s mine,” Éponine swiftly replies with an easy grin. She fleetingly wonders if Valérie’s trying to subtly make a pass at her before she puts the thought out of her mind. She’s probably just curious. It’s only natural. “The other two are Gabriel’s.”

“Ah.” Valérie nods, looking around the room once more before she returns her gaze to Éponine. She gestures to Éponine’s open laptop on the duvet. “So where shall we start?”

* * *

“Hey, Éponine?”

“Hmm?” Éponine presses pause on furiously scribbling notes in her notebook to look up at Valérie, who’s sprawled out across the foot of the bed, lying on her side. It’s kind of funny how she has to bend her long-ass legs to fit on the mattress. Éponine can’t help but throw her a teasing smirk.

They’re about a week into November now, the weather consistently getting colder as the days go by. The semester is almost at an end, and Bahorel keeps complaining about school, constantly giving voice to his growing disillusionment with the lawyer profession. Most days, Éponine seriously thinks he’s going to end up dropping out, if he keeps going on like this. She wonders what he’d do instead of law.

She and Valérie have been spending more and more time lately, mostly to work on their mock trial cases but sometimes just hanging out as friends, and with each day, Éponine finds herself more and more intrigued by the redhead. She’s fascinating. Apparently, she wants to go into environmental law and volunteers at an animal shelter in her free time. She’s fun to be around, with a good sense of humour and a quick tongue. The fact that she’s quite the looker as well, with her statuesque figure and lovely features, doesn’t hurt either.

“So what’s the deal with you and Enjolras?” Valérie asks, nonchalantly coiling a lock of red hair around her long index finger. “Like, what’s _really_ going on between you two?”

Éponine lets out a somewhat incredulous laugh, surprised by the question. “What do you mean? He’s my best friend.”

“Well, I know _that_. It’s just that, last month, on his birthday…” Valérie trails off, biting her lip. She laughs a little sheepishly, clarifying, “You tagged him in a post on Instagram for his birthday. And it’s just that… Well, the caption…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but Éponine catches her drift.

She’d made a post consisting of two photos: one being a picture of them playing on the swings from way back when they were six, when Lucie took them on a day out to Central Park, the other a rather saturated version of one of their Disney World selfies, wherein they’re both wearing mouse ears and she’s standing on tiptoe to nuzzle her cheek against his, jokingly making a kissy face as he laughs. They’ve always liked doing that for each other’s birthdays. Posting a childhood picture of themselves to contrast against a more recent photograph, accompanied by either a succinct caption, short and sweet, or something long and rambly and tangential. In the case of the latter, it would usually have an embarrassing childhood story thrown in. She still remembers what she wrote this year for his twenty-third birthday.

**eponine.t: happy birthday to my favorite face and the strongest person i know. i love you @genjolras ❤️**

“Oh!” Éponine laughs, stopping when Valérie gives her something of a strange look. “Oh, my God, no, we’re not involved or anything like that.”

Valérie’s eyebrows furrow. “You used a red heart emoji. And outright said ‘I love you’.”

“I assure you, ’twas purely platonic,” Éponine says, affecting the poshest English accent she can muster and drawing a laugh from Valérie. It’s only partly a lie.

“Really?” Valérie raises her eyebrows. She’s got very expressive eyebrows, Éponine’s noticed. Kind of like Emilia Clarke.

She composes herself, taking a deep breath and explaining quietly, “His mom died back in August. He was really close to her while we were growing up. She was kind of like a mom to me too.” Éponine gives Valérie a wan smile. “She was diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer sometime before our senior year of high school. She made it four years, and then, well…” She sighs. “I’ve been doing my best to be there for him. It’s getting better, but there are still times when he gets… well, you know. I’m doing my best to support him in any and every way I can.”

“Oh.” Valérie bites her lip as her eyes meet Éponine’s. “I’m sorry.”

Éponine musters a smile. “Lucie—his mom—she was incredible. Really, she was.” She looks away from Valérie to stare out the window, spacing out as she watches the clouds gather. Huh. Looks like they’re in for at least a little bit of rain that night.

Snapping out of it, she returns her gaze to Valérie, her tone of voice taking a considerably lighter turn as she playfully questions, “Why’d you ask? About us being involved, I mean. Are you interested in him?” The thought of it stings a little, but she gets it if Valérie actually is. A lot of people are. Her lips form a teasing grin. “Can’t say I blame you. He’s gorgeous. And I say that as someone who was there the entire time he was a skinny little thing and had acne and braces and his head looked too big for his body.”

Valérie laughs, a soft smile on her face as she shakes her head. “No, it’s not him I’m interested in.”

Éponine frowns, rather perplexed. “What do you mean?” It takes an almost embarrassing amount of time for her to process Valérie’s words and understand what she meant by that. “Oh.”

Valérie laughs again, smiling at her. Her eyes seem to sparkle. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“I tell myself that in the mirror every morning, actually,” Éponine quips, attempting to appear blasé to mask her utter surprise at Valérie all but outright saying that she’s into her. Out of all the things Éponine might have expected, she hadn’t expected this at all.

Valérie snorts and rolls her eyes in jest. “And full of yourself as well, apparently.”

Éponine swats at her arm, huffing. “Shut up. You don’t know enough about me yet to come to a definitive conclusion.”

“Hm. Maybe not. But I’m hoping I’ll get the chance to.” Valérie slowly pulls herself up, folding her legs underneath her as she scoots a couple of inches towards Éponine. Her breath catches a little in her throat. Their height difference is noticeable even when they’re both sitting. “Will you let me?”

“Well, I…” Éponine swallows. Has the room gotten really warm all of a sudden, or is it just her? Valérie simply sits there, head tilted slightly to the side, watching her. Not really expecting anything of her, just waiting to see if she’ll make a move or not. Éponine sits there, frozen in place, her gaze constantly flicking to Valérie’s lips. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s still hopelessly pining away for Enjolras, and it doesn’t feel like she’ll be getting over him anytime soon.

But then again, it’s been almost two years since she first came to terms with her feelings for him, and in all that time, he hasn’t really done anything to indicate that he might feel the same way. She might as well take this chance to finally nip her stupid crush in the bud. Before she inevitably gets her heart broken. So she surges forward and takes Valérie’s face in her hands.

As Valérie’s lips meet hers, the first thought that comes to mind is how she won’t be able to continue sleeping in Enjolras’ bed with him if this is to become something more serious.

Éponine screws her eyes shut and firmly pushes that thought out of her head.

* * *

“So apparently Joseph’s dropping out of law school,” Courfeyrac announces as he plops down into a plush armchair across from Enjolras, nearly spilling his coffee all over himself. Combeferre looks up momentarily to shoot Courfeyrac a weird look before he returns much of his attention to his book. Courfeyrac remains remarkably unfazed, haphazardly setting down his cup of coffee on its saucer on the little round table between their seats. “Only one semester in, and he’s already burned out.”

“Yes, Nina mentioned that to me a couple of days ago,” Enjolras says, only half-listening. He’s rather distracted by the busy streets outside, gazing out the window. It’s mid-December, snow drifting down from the heavens, and school let out for the winter holidays a few days ago.

He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately, with how once again, he’s stuck with only his own thoughts for company since Éponine’s stopped sharing a bed with him and has gone back to sleeping in her own room. Except this time, she actually has a good reason for it. And because of that, he feels even guiltier than he already is about that tiny, terrible, selfish part of him that resents her for it.

“I don’t really get _why_ , though. Being a lawyer sounds fun,” Courfeyrac goes on, taking a sip of his drink.

Combeferre closes his book and gives him a look, rather sceptical. “Adrien, your knowledge of law practice comes entirely from _Legally Blonde_.”

“And it makes being a lawyer look _awesome_ ,” he points out, downing the rest of his coffee and immediately regretting it when he ends up burning the roof of his mouth. “Don’t know why Joseph’s not into it.”

“Perhaps his passions lie elsewhere,” Combeferre suggests dryly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t you change your major three times when we were undergrads?”

Enjolras lets out a low snort at that, temporarily distracted from constantly wondering about what Éponine might be up to right now. _With Valérie,_ that aggravating little voice in his head oh so helpfully supplies. He zones out again, lost in his thoughts as he stares out the windows of the coffee shop. In a way, even though it means his coffee is less than perfect since he’s found out nobody makes iced Americano quite like she does, he’s kind of glad Éponine isn’t working today. There’s no doubt that she’d pick up on his strange mood the moment he went up to the counter to order his usual drink.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchange looks, concerned by Enjolras’ odd behaviour. “So… what’s new with you, Elle Woods?” Courfeyrac asks, keeping his tone light.

An involuntary laugh escapes Enjolras at the nickname as he gives Courfeyrac a questioning, incredulous look, eyebrows furrowed, lips twitching as he suppresses a smile. The only things he and the _Legally Blonde_ protagonist have in common are that they’re both law students at Ivy League schools and they’re both blond. Combeferre elbows Courfeyrac in the ribs, giving him a somewhat exasperated look.

“What he _meant_ to say is, are you okay, Gabriel?” Combeferre asks rather cautiously, biting his lip. Courfeyrac glowers at Combeferre, rubbing his side with a sour look on his face.

Enjolras purses his lips. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes and leans so far forward, he comes precariously close to falling off his armchair. He juts out his bottom lip as he takes in every single one of Enjolras’ microexpressions. After several rather uncomfortable moments, Enjolras trying hard not to squirm at Courfeyrac’s blatant disregard for personal space, he solemnly says, “No, you’re not. You have that look on your face.”

Enjolras sighs, asking half-heartedly, “What _look_?”

“The ‘I’m upset that Éponine’s in a relationship with someone who’s not me and I’m pissed at myself for thinking like that because it’s selfish and entitled and I have no right to be feeling that way but at the same time I can’t help it because alas the heart wants what it wants and I feel guilty about not being happy for her or at least not as happy for her as I should be so now I feel like the worst person alive and the shittiest best friend in the history of best friends because of it’ look,” Courfeyrac clarifies all in one breath. Enjolras and Combeferre stare at him, similar looks of openmouthed stupefaction on their faces.

“How on _earth_ do you get all that from a single expression?” Combeferre says at last after sitting there for quite a few moments, staring at a smug-faced Courfeyrac.

He flashes them a maddening smirk, a little too pleased with himself. “It’s a gift.” After a brief pause, he adds, “And also, Gabe’s had that look on his face before. When Ép was dating that Montparnasse guy.” He arches his eyebrows meaningfully at Enjolras, saying, “And we all know how that one ended.”

Enjolras frowns, scoffs a little. “He was an abusive piece of shit and my punching him in the face was completely justified,” he replies rather tersely. “He got what was coming for him.”

“No one’s disagreeing with you, Gabey. He sucked major ass.” Courfeyrac leans back in his seat, incessantly jiggling his leg. “But that wasn’t the point. The point _is_ , the only other time you’ve ever had that look on your face was back when she was with him and you were trying to hide how jealous you were.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to deny it, but then he sees the look in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he presses his lips back together, deflating slightly. Courfeyrac is a lot more shrewd than he lets on. Enjolras isn’t going to be able to get anything past him.

He lets out a quiet groan and crosses his arms across his chest, slumping down a bit in his seat. “Only this time it’s worse,” he mutters, his voice nearly inaudible. “Because Valérie is a great person. She clearly makes Nina happy, and that’s all I want, really.”

Courfeyrac snorts as he steals Combeferre’s drink to take a sip, much to the latter’s visible annoyance, however mild it may be. “How noble.”

“I have no right to be jealous,” Enjolras goes on, ignoring Courfeyrac’s quip. “But I can’t help it. I feel awful.” He absently runs his fingers through his hair as his gaze drifts to the window again, watching the people outside. He sighs. “And I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Not since Nina stopped sleeping in my bed with me.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his drink. “Okay, hold up, press pause right there, how and why did I not know about this before today?”

Combeferre sighs and gives Courfeyrac another look as Enjolras rolls his eyes and says dully, “There was nothing remotely romantic or sexual about it. Having her there helps me sleep better.”

Courfeyrac juts out his bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together in what looks like vague bewilderment. “How does having the subject of your wet dreams sleeping in the same bed as you help you sleep better?”

“ _Adrien!_ ” Combeferre exclaims, sharply elbowing him in the ribs once again as Enjolras’ face takes on an impressive shade of scarlet.

Courfeyrac glowers at Combeferre, rubbing his side. “Was I wrong?” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, staring at his lap, biting his lip, twiddling his thumbs. A few moments pass, and then Courfeyrac offers earnestly, “You want me to come sleep over and cuddle with you? I did it with Marius back when we were in high school before he started dating Cosette. Except he came over to my place. His grandpa was being a total hard-ass. ‘I’ve come to sleep with you,’ he said.” He sniggers. “Poor baby was so sheltered, he didn’t realise that most people would think he was propositioning them.”

Enjolras laughs faintly at that little anecdote and shakes his head. “No, I’ll figure it out. Thank you for the offer, though.” Maybe he’ll stop by a pharmacy later and pick up some sleeping pills. Might as well give those a try, since having Éponine there with him is out of the question at the moment.

Combeferre gives him an encouraging smile. “Well, if you ever need anyone to talk to, we’re always here for you, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, especially since it’s not like you can talk to Éponine about this shit,” Courfeyrac chimes in. Combeferre sighs again, giving him another look of utter exasperation.

Enjolras tries for a smile but it just comes out looking more like a grimace, and he lets out a half-hearted laugh. He picks up his phone to check the time, his gaze lingering on the photograph of Éponine and himself that he’s set as his lock-screen. It’s recent, from October, not even a full two months ago. Courfeyrac had thrown a big Halloween bash at Jehan’s industrial Brooklyn loft after begging the latter to let him use the place since he’s got the biggest apartment out of all of them and it would be a crime not to use that to their advantage. Enjolras catches himself smiling a little too fondly at the picture of Éponine and himself dressed as Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor.

“It’s getting late, I should go,” he tells the other two rather apologetically, getting up and pulling on his maroon parka and Hufflepuff scarf, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you two around.”

Combeferre gives him a little wave goodbye as Courfeyrac clicks his tongue and makes a whole show out of saluting him, and Enjolras laughs under his breath and shakes his head. Waving at them one final time, he walks out of the café and into the snow, rather lost in his thoughts as he finds his way to the subway station.

After getting a little bottle of sleeping pills at the Duane Reade a few blocks away from his, Éponine, and Gavroche’s apartment, he gets home, his feet propelling him up the stairs more out of instinct than pure will. It’s well past sunset by now, almost six o’clock. He may have stalled a little at the pharmacy.

He’s not really thinking as he puts the key in the lock, unlocking the door and stepping inside, taking off his boots by the door. Hanging his coat and scarf up on their hook, completely oblivious as he walks into the living room only to stop dead in his tracks. His throat tightens and he finds it hard to breathe at the sight of Éponine sitting in Valérie’s lap on the sofa, ardently making out.

He tries to move but finds himself rooted to the spot. Before this, he could simply pretend that Valérie was nothing more than Éponine’s friend and her partner in her Legal Research and Writing course. Even if he knew that wasn’t true, he could at least _pretend_.

Not anymore, it seems.

Valérie moves on to Éponine’s neck, not paying heed to anything else, and Éponine finally catches sight of Enjolras standing there. She gasps and quickly pulls away from Valérie, having the grace to look sheepish, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Gabriel!” Éponine gets up and out of Valérie’s lap, never making direct eye contact with him as she shifts from one foot to the other. He can’t quite tear his gaze away from the hardwood floors. When he doesn’t say anything, Éponine just looks over her shoulder back at Valérie and murmurs awkwardly, “Well, we’re just going to… go to my room now…”

She grabs Valérie’s hand and practically sprints into her room, barely giving Enjolras time to blink before she slams her bedroom door. He can only stare after her, at the closed door, not wanting to know what’s happening in there right now but unable to stop himself from thinking about it. Eventually, he somehow finds the energy to take himself to his bedroom to grab some clothes out of his closet before going to the bathroom. He strips off all his clothes and steps into the shower, numb.

He’s being _ridiculous_ , he _knows_. But _fuck_ , feelings are fucking messy. Especially when the object of his affections is his best friend of nearly eighteen years.

It’s only once he’s under the scalding-hot water that he finally lets the tears fall.


	19. a breakup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her efforts, Éponine’s heart isn’t quite in this relationship. Eventually, Valérie catches on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see, we've got a chapter count now! we're almost 2/3 of the way through!!
> 
> and i think the chapter title pretty much speaks for itself.

* * *

About a year into their relationship, Éponine’s still not sure if this is what she really wants.

If she does say so herself, she’s done a pretty fantastic job of convincing herself that this is _it_ , this relationship with Valérie, who’s so incredible and intelligent and practically perfect in every way. But no matter how many times she tells herself that, there’s always that nagging little voice in the back of her mind, stubborn and irritating and constantly asking her if she really believes what she’s telling herself. She can never get that fucking voice out of her head.

The fact that she and Enjolras have been spending considerably less one-on-one time together in the past year does not help at all. She cringes to think about how frequently she’s been flaking out on him, guilt overtaking her. But it’s been a year, and she still has zero idea how to find an appropriate balance between her friendship with Enjolras and her relationship with Valérie. She and Enjolras have always been so close. She doesn’t know how to get back to that level of closeness with him without things being severely misconstrued.

And no matter how hard she’s tried to stomp out her feelings for him, she still gets butterflies in her stomach around him often. Hell, the two of them are capable of having entire conversations solely through eye contact from opposite ends of a room. As far as she knows, she can’t really do that with Valérie. But then again, she hasn’t known Valérie for as long as she’s known Enjolras.

But Valérie makes her happy. Really, she does. It’s so easy to be around her. Comfortable. She’s funny and entertaining. And she’s also good in bed. That’s definitely a plus.

Even still, she can no longer keep living in denial of the doubt that’s made a home for itself somewhere in the back of her mind all the way back when she started this relationship with Valérie. And it bothers her.

* * *

“Hey. Éponine. Babe, are you okay?” Éponine jumps when Valérie materialises in front of her, leaning over the counter. “You look a little spaced out.”

“What?” She blinks, only now noticing the dirty looks quite a few of her Café Musain coworkers are shooting her way. Her cheeks heat up as Musichetta approaches her, concern in her dark eyes.

“You okay?” she asks, echoing Valérie’s words. “You’ve messed up three orders. No offence, but this really isn’t like you.”

“I’m so sorry, I was just…” Éponine trails off, biting her lip. She can’t even remember what exactly it was that she was thinking about. “It won’t happen again, Chetta. Promise.”

Musichetta arches an eyebrow at her and nods, fluffing her bob and walking back over to man the cash register.

Valérie frowns as she leans forward, arms resting on the counter. “Éponine, are you alright? You’ve been a little out of it lately.” She cocks her head, a questioning look on her face. “You can always talk to me about it, you know?”

Éponine smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks. But it was nothing. Really.”

She leans over the counter to press her lips to Valérie’s in a kiss just as the bell over the door rings, signifying another patron’s entrance, and Éponine pulls back to see Courfeyrac shoving past Combeferre on his way in, Enjolras close behind them. She kind of hates how her heart skips a beat. She’s in a relationship with someone else, for Christ’s sake.

He spots her behind the counter and smiles, giving her a little wave. She laughs softly and waves back, her free hand toying with her locket. Valérie looks back and forth between the two of them, watching how Enjolras goes up to the counter to order a drink while Éponine’s gaze lingers on him for quite a bit, absently rolling her locket between her thumb and index finger.

“I’ll have my usual,” they hear Enjolras tell Musichetta, handing over his coffee tumbler. “Thank you, Chetta.”

They can hear the slight smirk in Musichetta’s voice as she replies, “No problem, chief.” Éponine looks up and makes eye contact with Musichetta, who simply nods.

Valérie observes as Éponine takes the tumbler from Musichetta and goes about making an iced Americano for Enjolras, fascinated by the quick, efficient way in which she does it. Enjolras walks up to the counter and stands beside her, leaving a few feet of space between the two of them.

“Valérie,” he acknowledges, smiling politely.

She nods back at him, not quite sure of how to respond. “Enjolras.”

He stands there as she leans against the counter, neither of them able to think of anything else to say. Valérie gets the strange feeling that he’s uncomfortable around her. It’s not like he dislikes her or anything. At least, she doesn’t think he does. But he always acts so odd and stiff whenever she’s around, although he does make an effort to mask it with gracious smiles and civil words. She often wonders why he acts the way he does around her. Her gut tells her that it has something to do with Éponine, who’s walking towards them from behind the counter right now.

“Hey, Gabe, are you aware that you’re the only person I know who drinks iced coffee in December?” she tells him as she hands him his drink, lips curved into a teasing grin.

Valérie glances sideways at Enjolras, noticing the way his face lights up with a smile, laughing. The expression seems to transform his entire face. She glimpses the tattoo on his inner wrist when the sleeve of his parka rides up a little as he reaches out with his right hand to take his drink from Éponine. “And what about it?” he asks.

Éponine snorts and shakes her head. “God, you’re fucking weird.”

“What’s that?” Valérie asks rather abruptly, pointing at the tattoo on his wrist.

“What?” Enjolras startles a little, glancing at what Valérie is pointing at. His cheeks flush red as he sets his drink down on the counter before rubbing it, somewhat self-conscious. “Oh. It’s just something I got years ago. A sun.” He quickly picks his drink back up, shooting one last smile Éponine’s way. “Well, I should… really go now…” He starts backing away, the look on his face rather sheepish. Éponine only laughs.

“I’ll see you later!” she calls after him, turning back to Valérie and laughing a little to herself. Valérie smiles, endeared.

“You have a moon tattooed on your wrist,” she brings up casually, tilting her head to the side as she leans against the counter.

Éponine bows her head and rubs her left wrist, laughing again, but there’s something off about it this time. Something akin to nervous laughter. “Yeah. We got matching tattoos on my eighteenth birthday. It was my idea, actually. We’d gone to see the _Miss Saigon_ matinee and then I said we should get matching sun and moon tattoos.”

“Ah.” Valérie glances over at Enjolras, seeing how he quickly looks away and returns to his conversation with those other two guys. Combeferre and Courfeyrac. From the looks of it, they’re something of a trio. He’s not as close to them as he is to Éponine, but very nearly, from what Valérie knows. Has he been watching them this entire time?

No, not them, she realises. Just Éponine.

Valérie just stands there at the edge of the counter, simply observing the customers as they come and go and watching Éponine making their drinks, intensely focused on her task so not to break her promise to Musichetta about not mixing up any more orders. It’s kind of cute how she scrunches up her entire face and sticks her tongue out a little bit when she’s deep in concentration.

Several orders later, after the flow of customers has considerably relaxed, Éponine goes back over to Valérie at the counter, once again fiddling with her locket, eyes wandering the coffee shop, watching the patrons. Valérie’s gaze settles on Éponine’s locket. She wonders what the picture inside may be.

“Hey,” she says, nonchalant. Éponine looks up, eyebrows raised ever so slightly as she meets Valérie’s eyes. “What’s your locket all about? You never really told me about that one.” She lets out a light laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take it off.”

Éponine bites her lip, holding her locket between her thumb and index finger and looking down at it, hesitating. Valérie’s lips part slightly, beginning to think she might have overstepped, so she rapidly adds, “It’s okay if it’s too personal. Forget I said anything.”

Éponine laughs softly. “No, it’s fine,” she assures her, still gazing at her locket. A smile plays at her lips as she murmurs, “Gabriel gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. The picture inside was different back then, though.”

She falls silent again, looking up and meeting Enjolras’ eyes from across the room, throwing him a smile. Valérie follows her gaze, seeing how he laughs and smiles back. She bites her lip as she looks back and forth between the two of them. She decides not to ask about what the current picture in Éponine’s locket is. She didn’t offer to show it to her, so she’ll assume she wants to keep that part private. She can respect that.

Éponine soon returns to making drinks as Enjolras immerses himself in conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac once again. Valérie notices, though, how he keeps stealing glances at Éponine when he thinks nobody else is looking. She recognises the look in his eyes. It’s how she herself looks at Éponine. Like she’s the most beautiful creature ever created and nothing else could ever come close to comparing to her so they should all just stop trying. And it finally hits her.

* * *

Éponine nearly growls at the sight of yet _another_ link Grantaire has sent her, a link to an article titled “Seven Signs You’re Settling for Someone”, soon followed by two rather flippant texts reading **ur kind of missing out hes gr8 in bed n we were totally shitfaced that 1 time we hooked up imagine how fucking gr8 sex w him would b sober** and **u n i have fucked too n i think u n him would b rly compatible in bed i mean fr**. She sends him a single middle-finger emoji in response before turning her phone off and shoving it into the drawer of her nightstand before turning back to face Valérie, who laughs at the sour look on her face.

“What is it, babe?” she teases, booping her nose. “You look ready to murder someone.”

“I just might,” Éponine grumbles under her breath. “Fucking R being all busybodying and shit…”

Valérie laughs. “I don’t think busybody is a verb, Ép.” She has no idea what Éponine’s friend R could possibly be “busybodying” about, but she doesn’t pry. It’s probably none of her business anyway.

Éponine pouts and burrows further under the covers, still upset about everything Grantaire has been implying to her, either in conversation or over text, over the course of the past month or so. She’s not settling. She’s _not_. She’ll get over Enjolras soon enough. He’s her best friend. She can’t risk their near-lifelong friendship being ruined. And besides, she _loves_ Valérie. She’s _in love_ with her. She is.

 _Are you_ really _in love with someone if you have to keep reminding yourself about it, though?_

Fucking fantastic. Now the little voice in her head has begun to sound inexplicably like Grantaire.

She thinks about how much has changed in the past year. Bossuet, in addition to (tragically enough) gradually falling victim to premature male pattern baldness, followed Bahorel’s lead and dropped out of law school after a year, while Marius grew too overwhelmed and dropped out as well after the first semester of their second year. (What a shame. He was halfway to the finish line.) And Grantaire has a pet Yorkie now, a feisty, yappy little thing he’s named Toby. It’s funny—he always struck Éponine as the kind of person who would name their pet something absolutely outrageous, like Ziggy Stardust or Beef Supreme. Imagine her surprise when he picked out what might be _the_ most generic name imaginable for his pup.

Then again, a lot of things _haven’t_ changed. One of them being her feelings for Enjolras.

It’s been a year and nearly two months, and she can already sense the spark between her and Valérie starting to die out. She’s doing everything she can to keep it alive. But lately, Valérie’s been acting rather strangely around both her and Enjolras, and Éponine has zero idea why. It’s probably just a temporary thing, though. Valérie’s not the kind of person to dwell on something for too long. At least, Éponine doesn’t think she is.

She gets up and out of bed, noticing how it’s getting dark out. Valérie follows her lead, raising her eyebrows questioningly at her.

“We should grab some dinner,” Éponine says. “Maybe we can order a pizza or something?”

“I was actually thinking maybe we could make dinner ourselves,” Valérie replies. “You know, cook something. We’ve never actually cooked anything together before.”

Éponine purses her lips slightly as she looks up at Valérie, rather perplexed by the odd suggestion. After a while, though, she shrugs and nods. “Sure. Why not?” On her way out, she says without really thinking, “Maybe we can get Gabe to help out, his dad sent him a bunch of his mom’s old recipes recently.”

She thinks she sees Valérie’s smile falter for a split second before she regains her composure, smiling and nodding and going along with it. “Okay.”

They find him in the living room, sitting in his usual spot by the window, engrossed in some novel. Éponine leans over the backrest of his armchair, her hair falling into his face, blocking his view of his book. _Les Liaisons dangereuses_ , she reads on the cover when he closes the book with his fingers between the pages and sighs. He looks up with a small smile on his lips, a strange blend of fondness and exasperation. “What do you want, Nina?”

“Isn’t that the book _Cruel Intentions_ was based on?” she questions.

He chuckles softly and nods. “Yes, it is.”

She grins at him. “Val and I were thinking of cooking something for dinner,” she informs him brightly. “I thought you’d want to join in. We could make something from one of your mom’s old recipes. It’ll be fun!”

He bites his lip, rather hesitant as he considers it. He’s not exactly thrilled at the idea of third-wheeling them. But he can’t say no to Éponine, not when she’s giving him those ridiculous puppy eyes that really shouldn’t be as effective as they are, not when he can count on his hands the amount of times they’ve spent time alone together on purpose over the past year. So he puts down his book and gets to his feet, to Éponine’s visible delight.

“Hell yeah!” She pumps her fist into the air triumphantly before she practically flies into the kitchen, grabbing ingredients out of the fridge and mixing bowls and measuring cups out of cabinets and God only knows what else. Valérie follows along, Enjolras standing a little to the side, giving the pair of them some space.

“I was thinking we could make your mom’s mac and cheese,” Éponine says, looking at Enjolras. Valérie’s gaze flits between the two of them, taking note of how Enjolras’ features soften whenever he looks at Éponine. A soft smile plays at his lips, though his blue eyes are wistful. Quietly yearning.

Valérie swallows and shoves that thought out of her mind, walking up beside Éponine and cocking her head as her eyes rake over the ingredients set out on the kitchen island. “So how do we make this?”

“Here.” She jumps a little at how Enjolras has silently slid into place beside her, grabbing a slice of Parmesan and a grate. “I’ll show you.”

They (read: mostly Éponine) make a bit of a mess of the kitchen in the next half hour or so, bantering between themselves as they cook. At some point, Gavroche wanders in to grab a pack of Cheetos out of a cabinet. For most of it, Valérie simply observes Éponine and Enjolras, paying rather close attention to their easy dynamic. She wonders what it’s like to have known someone for so long that you can’t imagine being anyone but your whole authentic self around them. Éponine’s very clearly unapologetically herself around Enjolras, and vice versa.

The macaroni and cheese is nearly done when Éponine lets out a little gasp and straightens up. “We forgot the chips!” she exclaims, to Enjolras’ amusement and Valérie’s mild confusion. She barely has time to shoot Éponine an enquiring look when she turns to Enjolras and tells him, “I’m going to go get some, I won’t be too long, okay?”

“Alright.” Enjolras pats her on the shoulder, his hand lingering there for a split second too long, before he pulls away. Éponine leans up to plant a quick kiss on Valérie’s cheek before she bolts out of sight and into the foyer, no doubt hastily throwing on her coat and scarf and shoving her feet into her boots. So that leaves Valérie alone with Enjolras. Wonderful.

She’s just opened her mouth to say something when he beats her to it. “I’m sorry, if I’ve been a little cold to you in all this time,” he says, his words rather hastily spoken but his voice impressively steady. “It’s just that… the last time Nina was in a relationship, he turned out to be an asshole.”

Valérie laughs despite herself. “Yeah, I know. She told me about it a few months ago.” She absent-mindedly fiddles with her bracelets as she says with an edge of teasing to her voice, “If I remember correctly, I think she also told me about how you ended up punching him in the face when he wouldn’t accept her dumping him…?”

She laughs again at how Enjolras’ face flushes red. “I did. Not my best moment.” He pauses, stares at the granite of the kitchen counter, laughing under his breath, rather self-deprecating. “Police got involved. They took us down to the precinct. There were quite a few witnesses, though. Some of them caught the whole ordeal on camera. He was about to hit her before I stepped in.”

“Yeah, Ép told me how much of a piece of shit he was.” Valérie stares off into space, momentarily zoned out, before she returns her gaze to Enjolras, giving him a little smile. “But I promise you I’m nothing like him.”

“Well, I would hope not,” Enjolras says, going to pour himself a glass of water and lifting the glass to his lips to take a sip. Valérie lets out a small laugh at his quip and the matter-of-fact tone in which he delivered it.

Silence falls between them, stifling, and Valérie leans back against the counter, crossing her arms across her chest. “What was she talking about, with the chips?” she asks curiously, watching Enjolras rinse off the dishes piled up in the sink and place them in the dishwasher.

“Oh.” He lets out a small laugh, shrugging. “Chips are a part of my mother’s recipe. She would crush salt-and-vinegar potato chips and sprinkle it over the macaroni and cheese. It gives it an extra crunch, she used to say.” He smiles, rather doleful. “She used to make it for Nina and me all the time when we were younger.”

Valérie nods slowly, taking in that little bit of information. She’s always found the little things to be the most interesting. Before she can stop herself, she asks, “What was Éponine like growing up? I’ve seen the pictures around this place, and in her room. I’m assuming you two’ve seen each other through some shit.”

At that, Enjolras smiles, bowing his head and chuckling to himself. “You really want to know?”

“Yes,” Valérie says resolutely, paying close attention to his facial expressions.

He looks back up, meeting her gaze. His lips form a fond smile. “She’s always been so annoyingly stubborn. Almost to a fault, really. Since we were little, she’s always liked to speak her mind no matter how much trouble it got her in.” He laughs under his breath. “She’s feisty. Always so quick with her tongue, even way back then. Once, back in the seventh grade, she got into a fistfight with a boy who insulted me.”

Valérie claps a hand to her mouth to muffle an astonished laugh. “What did he insult you for?”

Enjolras shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Valérie notices how his T-shirt seems rather snug on him, his biceps straining slightly against the fabric. “I was a scrawny little thing back then, with acne and braces and everything. Something of a late bloomer. I got picked on a lot. So one day, Nina couldn’t take any more of it and got herself into a fight with the next boy who made fun of how I looked.” He rolls his eyes and smiles. “He was much bigger than her, too. I’m surprised she didn’t get herself hurt.”

Valérie laughs softly. “Sounds just like her to do that.”

“She had a habit of making bad decisions.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Honestly, she still does on occasion. We skipped our junior prom for a night out on the town and got ourselves into a nightclub with our fake IDs.”

She perks up, considerably more intrigued. “No offence, but you don’t look like the kind of person who would’ve had a fake ID in high school.”

He laughs dryly. “Up until that point, I had only used my fake ID to vote.”

Valérie throws her head back and cackles. “Now _that_ , I can believe.”

Enjolras smiles, a little self-deprecatingly. “We downed so many tequila slammers, we lost count. I think it goes without saying that we got _extremely_ drunk. We ended up going home at about three in the morning. My parents were asleep by then. She passed out the second she fell onto my bed.” He looks down at his feet and chuckles quietly, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. “I woke up the next morning to the sound of her vomiting in the bathroom and went in to hold her hair back. I think those might have been the worst hangovers of our lives.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your seventeen-year-old selves would’ve been as accustomed to alcohol as you probably are now,” Valérie quips.

“We went downstairs and there my parents were, having breakfast.” Enjolras scoffs and laughs, an edge of casual derision there. “I know they knew about what we’d done the previous night. They didn’t say anything about it, though. My mother just asked us if we had fun last night. Neither of us answered. We just went out in our pyjamas and looked for the nearest fast-food place.” He looks up, back at Valérie. “I never did get grounded for it. I think they thought the hangover was punishment enough. Although my father did take some time out of his day a couple of weeks later to lecture us on the dangers of alcohol poisoning.”

Valérie can’t help but laugh at his wry delivery. She falls quiet then, ruminating on her words for a bit before saying at last, “You two have been through a lot together, haven’t you?”

He nods, the barest hint of an affectionate smile on his lips. “Yes, we have. She drives me crazy half the time, but I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“Right.” Valérie cocks her head as she scrutinises him, trying to get a clear view of his eyes. She’s learned that the truth is always in the eyes. And she sees a boy who’s been hopelessly in love with his best friend for God only knows how long now but is all too willing to step aside for the sake of her happiness. Out loud, he’d deny it, of course. But his eyes give everything away.

She’s just about to say something else when the words die in her throat at the sound of the door being thrown open before swinging shut moments later. In comes Éponine, having taken off her coat and scarf and boots in the foyer, dark hair rather damp from melted snow. “I got the chips!” she declares triumphantly, dumping the party-sized bag on the kitchen island.

Enjolras eyes the bag and then exchanges a quizzical look with Valérie. “This is probably ten times more than we need, Nina.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll save it for future times,” Éponine reasons, going over to Valérie and leaning up to kiss her cheek before she goes and rips open the chip bag, pouring quite a few out into a bowl and pushing the bowl over to Enjolras for him to crush into bits. “So what did you two talk about while I was gone?” she asks, leaning back against the kitchen counter, lips quirked into a slight smile.

Valérie lets out a quiet laugh and shrugs. “Just things.”

Éponine’s smile widens into a broad grin. “Well, it’s good to see you two’ve been bonding!”

Valérie laughs again at that, but she doesn’t fail to notice how Éponine isn’t looking at her. She’s looking at Enjolras.

* * *

Éponine walks along the pavement on her way to Bow Bridge, the meeting point Valérie set up when she texted her that morning. She secures the brown newsboy cap on her head, tucking her Gryffindor scarf into her trench coat and hugging herself, rubbing her arms to try and warm herself up a bit more, the cold biting. Clouds hang low over the city, the day grey and overcast, snow falling at a slow but steady rate. Central Park in the snow is rather a pretty sight. At least before it’s trampled over by pedestrians.

She finds Valérie standing there by the banister, gaze fixed on a flock of nearby pigeons. “Hey, what’s up?” Éponine says, sliding into place beside her. She takes in Valérie’s profile. Thick eyelashes, straight nose, pert lips, strong jaw. Red hair partially tucked up into a violet beanie. A bit of a faraway look in her green eyes.

Valérie finally turns to look at her, trying for a slight smile. “You want to walk for a bit?”

Éponine frowns at Valérie’s somewhat odd behaviour, but she goes with it anyway. “Sure.”

They walk leisurely along the bridge, finding their way to the Mall, silence falling between them. Valérie’s hands remain in her pockets, strangely enough. She usually leaves her arms hanging by her sides when she walks, to give Éponine the opportunity to take her hand at any time. Éponine wonders what that’s all about as she shoves her own gloved hands into her coat pockets.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Valérie starts, keeping her tone light.

Éponine turns her head to look up at her as they walk, lips forming a small smile. “What about?”

“We’ve been together for, what, a year and almost three months now?” Valérie says, kicking up some snow.

“Just about, yeah.” Éponine’s brow creases as she tries to determine what Valérie could possibly want to talk about. Is she thinking about marriage? She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle marriage, not at this age. Certainly not with someone she’s only known for about a year and a half. But how can she tell Valérie that without seeming insensitive? “Why’d you ask?”

“Well, here’s the thing, Ép.” Valérie hesitates, and Éponine looks up at her again to see that she’s biting her lip. “I love you, I do…”

“I can hear the ‘but’ coming,” Éponine jokes in an attempt to ease the tension. At that, Valérie lets out a feeble laugh.

Her next words catch Éponine completely off-guard. “But I don’t think you love me in the way I love you.”

It takes her a while to properly register that. Her eyebrows furrow, incredulous, as she stops in her tracks and looks up at Valérie, baffled beyond belief. “What do you mean? Of course I love you.”

“I never said you didn’t.” Valérie smiles at her, rather melancholy. “I just said that I don’t think you love me in the way I love you.”

“Well, what does that _mean_?” Éponine presses, grabbing Valérie’s hand and dragging her to a nearby park bench. When Valérie remains quiet, she pleads, “Come on, Val. Talk to me.”

Valérie finally meets her gaze, green eyes boring into brown. “Okay. I think you’re in love with somebody else.”

“What?” Éponine scoffs, blood rushing into her cheeks. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” How the hell is she staying so calm, so patient? “You’re in love with somebody else, and you’re using this relationship with me to try and get over it.”

There’s nothing accusing in her tone, but even still, Éponine shrinks into herself, growing defensive. “I’m not _using_ you—”

“Éponine.” Valérie places a placating hand on her shoulder. “I know you weren’t doing it on purpose. But you were still using the relationship to try and get over someone else, regardless of whether you intended to or not.”

Éponine stares at her, too stunned to say anything. Valérie just gives her a wan smile, saying, “I’m not mad or anything. But I think we should break up. It’s about time we did, right?” She lets out a faint laugh. “I love you, but I don’t want to be somebody’s safe choice. I don’t want to be the person you settle for.”

Éponine finds her voice at last. “So you’re just—I don’t even get a say in this?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

Valérie smiles sadly at her. “It’s for the best, Éponine,” she murmurs. “You know that.”

And she does. She hates it, but Valérie’s right. She _has_ been using this relationship to try and get over her feelings for Enjolras, which she hasn’t even been successful in doing. It wouldn’t be fair to Valérie if they continue this relationship, not when she still has feelings for someone else.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”

Valérie smiles, a genuine one this time, and reaches out to brush some hair out of Éponine’s face. “I hope we can still be friends,” she says sincerely as she gets to her feet, placing her hands in her pockets once more. “Not right away, of course, but I hope we can get there someday.”

“Yeah,” Éponine mumbles, already halfway lost in her own thoughts.

Valérie’s just turned on her heel to walk away when she pauses and looks back. “Hey, Éponine?”

“Yeah?” She looks up, brown eyes rather dull as they find Valérie’s green.

She smiles at her, gentle, encouraging. “Good luck. With Enjolras.”

Éponine’s cheeks burn, but just as she’s about to respond, Valérie walks away, leaving her alone. She sits there for a while, still trying to work out what’s just happened, wondering if she’s really been _that_ transparent when it comes to Enjolras. Eventually, she pulls herself to her feet and starts walking, in a bit of a daze as she gets on the subway, lost in thought the whole way home.

She hears the sound of someone playing the piano when she opens the door to her apartment, mechanically taking off her coat, hat, and scarf to hang by the door, kicking off her boots. The piano-playing abruptly stops when she slams the door behind her with a little more force than necessary, dragging her feet on her way into the living room. She sees Enjolras turn around on the piano bench out of the corner of her eye, her gaze fixed on the photograph of Valérie and herself that serves as her lock-screen. What catches her eye is the date.

“Nina, what’s the matter?” Enjolras asks in concern, standing up to walk over to her.

“Valentine’s Day.” Éponine laughs rather derisively to herself. “She broke up with me on fucking _Valentine’s Day_. Jesus _fuck_.”

“Oh.” Enjolras presses his lips together, reaching out with an uncertain hand to place a hand on her shoulder. His voice is hardly audible when he murmurs, “I’m sorry, Nina.” After a pause, he asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She turns off her phone and slides it back into her pocket, looking up at him with a tight smile on her face. “No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. The relationship was bound to end sooner or later anyway.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t even know what she _means_ by that. From what he saw, her and Valérie’s relationship was a perfectly happy one. But he doesn’t pry. He just places his hands in the large front pocket of his Columbia University hoodie and candidly offers, “Do you want to get drunk and watch _Pretty Woman_ and criticise every problematic aspect of the movie that’s made it age like milk left on a radiator forever?”

Despite herself, she throws her head back and laughs so loud, it borders on a cackle. Looking up to meet his gaze, she smiles, the first real smile she’s given all day. As her brown eyes find his blue, she can’t help but think about how she wants to hold him forever and never let go. “You know me so well.”


	20. an unexpected request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fauchelevent and Pontmercy and baby make three. Éponine and Enjolras find themselves more involved than they initially expected to be.

* * *

Nearly halfway through Éponine and Enjolras’ final term of law school, Cosette and Marius announce that they’re expecting.

It’s kind of funny how the initial reaction they garner when they tell the others almost exactly mirrors the response they got when they broke the news of their engagement three and a half years ago.

Éponine and Musichetta have weekends off, so they sit with the others in their usual corner of the Café Musain one Saturday afternoon towards the end of February, wondering what the hell Cosette and Marius called them all there for. Éponine sits beside Enjolras on a loveseat by the window, eyes narrowed as she scrutinises the couple’s expressions and thinks up all the possible scenarios that might explain why they look like they’re ready to explode if they keep their mouths shut for one minute longer. Their massive Great Pyrenees, Chou Chou, sits with his head in Gavroche’s lap, wagging his tail happily as Gavroche scratches behind his ears.

“So?” Bahorel cocks his head impatiently, eyebrows arched and muscular arms crossed across his broad chest. “Why’d you call us all here?”

“Well…” Cosette exchanges a look with Marius, the giddiness in their eyes unmistakeable. Éponine’s eyes slowly widen as she lifts her head from Enjolras’ shoulder and straightens up. The last time Cosette and Marius looked this elated, they shocked them all by announcing their engagement. Éponine juts out her bottom lip at how Cosette’s stalling. Whatever their big news is, something’s telling her that it _definitely_ has something to do with how Cosette’s forgone her usual vanilla latte.

“What is it?” Courfeyrac demands, leaning so far forward in his seat, it’s a marvel he doesn’t fall off.

Cosette turns back to look at the others, beaming so wide, Éponine wonders how her cheeks aren’t hurting. “I’m pregnant!” she squeals, giving jazz hands. “We’re having a baby!”

Everyone else promptly falls silent. And then chaos erupts.

“What do you mean you’re _pregnant_?”

“Oh, my God, congratulations!”

“When are you due?”

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck.”

“Are we really old enough to be having babies already?”

“Ha, nice. That means you had _sex_.”

Courfeyrac smirks at Marius and wiggles his eyebrows, howling with laughter when Marius turns scarlet at his painfully blunt words. Over the commotion, Éponine can hear the sounds of Toby the Yorkie yapping at all the noise and Grantaire frantically shushing him so not to get kicked out of the coffee shop. It takes a while for them to finally calm down, all of them staring at Cosette and Marius, flabbergasted.

“How far along are you?” Feuilly asks at last, breaking the silence.

Cosette smiles, rubbing her belly—still very flat as of right now. “About nine weeks. My due date’s September fifteenth.”

Musichetta leans back against Bossuet’s arm slung across the backrest of their little sofa, letting out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

“Wow, a _baby_!” Joly beams at the couple before he seems to realise something, and his eyebrows furrow, mild concern clouding his eyes. “But we’re not old enough to have babies.”

“I guess that’s subjective,” Grantaire remarks, absently allowing Jehan beside him to lift Toby out of his lap. “But seriously, guys? You’re not even twenty-five yet,” he says to Cosette.

She purses her lips in a slight pout. “I’ll be twenty-five by the time the baby is born. And Marius and I feel like we’re ready, so why not?”

Azelma nods, like she’s never thought of that before. “Right.”

“I’m so happy for you two!” Jehan exclaims, blue eyes sparkling as he beams at the couple. “Aww, Chou Chou will have a tiny friend to play with!” He reaches over to scratch behind Chou Chou’s ear, much to Toby’s displeasure. The Yorkie yaps once, demanding Jehan’s attention once more.

“I call dibs on godfather!” Courfeyrac calls out. Éponine snorts.

“Don’t think that’s the kind of thing you can call dibs on, Adrien,” she drawls. She can feel Enjolras beside her laughing under his breath in spite of himself.

Cosette laughs, shaking her head. She lays her head on Marius’ shoulder as Combeferre asks, “How do you two feel about becoming parents?”

“Excited,” Cosette immediately says, beaming. 

At the same time Marius says, “Absolutely terrified. But also very excited.” He leans his head against Cosette’s, smiling contentedly. “We’re having a _baby_!”

Éponine presses her lips together, resisting the urge to make a sardonic comment at his expense. Somehow, she can’t picture Marius as a father. She just feels incapable of imagining it.

“We’ll be going to Hawaii in May on our babymoon!” Cosette tells them brightly.

Éponine cocks her head, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “What the fuck is a babymoon?” she whispers to Enjolras rather incredulously, looking up at him to discern his reaction. He’s just as nonplussed as she is.

“I’m assuming it’s sort of like a honeymoon that you take before your baby arrives,” he whispers back.

“Ah.” Éponine nods, still mystified by the concept as she turns her attention back to Cosette and Marius. She offhandedly observes how Marius’ hazel eyes have flecks of gold among the green.

“Are you two gonna be able to afford a baby?” Bossuet questions, pursing his lips in slight befuddlement. No doubt he’s thinking about how Marius dropped out of law school over a year ago, so there’s a lucrative potential vocation down the drain.

Cosette shrugs. “We have my parents and Marius’ granddad supporting us,” she cheerfully says. “And we both make money of our own as well; Marius just works from home.”

“Babies are so expensive, though,” Joly points out, toying with the hem of his sweater.

Cosette waves it off, laughing. “We can take care of it! We’re _fine_ , financially speaking.”

“What about emotionally?” Bahorel pipes up after a long period of silence, having needed some more time than the others did to really process the news.

“Scared, but excited!” Grantaire trills in a horrible impression of Marius, flashing a shit-eating grin at the man in question. He laughs out loud at how red Marius’ face becomes.

“I can’t believe we’ll have a little nibling to play with,” Jehan muses, stroking Toby’s fur lovingly.

“You mean babysit,” Grantaire corrects, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of changing diapers.

“Well, we hope you guys’ll help out with that from time to time!” Marius’ eyes light up. “Babies are hard work.”

Gavroche frowns, perplexed. “Then why’d you choose to make one?”

Cosette rolls her eyes at him and laughs wryly. “Believe it or not, some of us do want to be parents, Gavroche. No matter how hard the work is.”

“Well, I, for one, think you’ll make a wonderful mother,” Combeferre tells her, a little smile on his face. Éponine thinks back to all the times they played house in elementary school, the five of them: her, Enjolras, Cosette, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac. God, that feels like forever ago. And now Cosette’s having an actual baby.

Cosette turns pink, touched by the sentiment. “Aww, thank you! What about Marius? It’s his baby too, you know.”

Combeferre, though still smiling, bites his lip, considering it for a few seconds too long. Éponine resists a snort at his hesitation. “I’m sure he’ll be a good dad,” he says at last.

Enjolras casts a funny sidelong glance at Éponine when she fakes a cough. He gently nudges her, murmuring, “Don’t be mean, Nina.”

She looks up at him and rests her chin on his shoulder, a rather devilish grin on her face. “Wasn’t trying to.”

It’s nearly sundown by the time they’ve tired themselves out peppering Cosette and Marius with questions, including but not limited to baby names and baby shower ideas and prospective godparents, and around half past five, Éponine and Enjolras find themselves walking along the pavement on their way to the subway station, Gavroche a few steps ahead of them. Éponine shoves her hands into the pockets of her trench coat, looking up at the sky and whistling in wonderment.

“I can’t believe they’re having a fucking _baby_ ,” she says in disbelief. “Like, there’s an actual tiny _human_ growing inside of Coco _right the fuck now_.”

Enjolras breathes out a laugh, watching the vapour dissipate before his eyes as he turns his head to look at her. “I remember when we used to play house and she would insist on us, Julien, and Adrien being her children.”

“Even though she’s the youngest out of the five of us.” Éponine laughs out loud, kicking up some snow on their way down to the subway platform. “I wonder who they’ll pick to be the godparents.”

“It’s anybody’s guess, I suppose.” Enjolras steps aside to let her step into the train car first, the two of them snagging seats for themselves near the doors while Gavroche grabs onto one of the hanging straps to keep himself steady as the train moves along.

She sighs, sliding down in her seat, hands stuffed in her pockets. “Really hope they don’t make Adrien godfather. That would be a disaster waiting to happen. Best man was one thing. Godfather’s a whole other deal.”

He laughs under his breath, rolling his eyes. “He can be responsible when he wants to be.”

She scrunches up her face, looking up at him. “Yeah, well, too bad he doesn’t want to be most of the time.” When he only lets out a tiny scoff at that, she nudges him, a corner of her mouth turning up in a tiny grin. “Come on, Gabe. I know you’re too nice to say it out loud, but I’m sure even _you_ know that Adrien would be a horrible choice for godfather.”

She stares at him almost to the point of discomfort for several moments as the train rattles along the tracks, and eventually he gives in with a roll of his eyes and a wry, quiet chuckle. “Alright, maybe he isn’t the best choice.” He looks back at her, meeting her gaze. “Whom do you think they’ll ask to be godfather, then?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Like you said, it’s anybody’s guess.” She glances up at Gavroche with a grin. “Maybe they’ll ask my baby brother to be godfather.”

Gavroche overhears and makes a face. “Um, no, thanks. I don’t even _want_ kids.”

Éponine rolls her eyes. “Uh, yeah, I’d hope not. You’re not even eighteen yet.” Gavroche opens his mouth to speak before she waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know you mean you don’t want kids ever. Jesus.”

Enjolras laughs, putting his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively, she leans into him and lays her head on his shoulder, not noticing how his breath hitches momentarily. “I think we should focus on completing law school for now,” he suggests. “The baby will come in September anyway. Possibly in August, if the baby comes early.”

Éponine looks up and props her chin up on his shoulder, grinning. “You’re making it sound like we’re the ones having a baby,” she teases without a second thought. The moment the words are out of her mouth, she wonders what the _fuck_ possessed her to say something like that. Her cheeks heat up. Immediately, she adds, “I’m just fucking with you.” Why is his face so red?

He nods, pressing his lips together in a tight, straight line. “Right.”

She nods back at him, the two of them just staring into each other’s eyes for quite a few moments too long before she eventually breaks his gaze, laying her head back on his shoulder, chewing on her bottom lip. He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head against hers.

“We’ll graduate from law school and it’ll be our massive flex on Joseph, Bossuet, and Marius,” she says, if only to distract herself from what she said minutes earlier. “We made it and they didn’t.”

That draws a slight laugh from him. “Yeah. We’ll do that.”

He doesn’t mention her offhand remark the rest of the way home, but it’s all she can think about, cursing herself for being so fucking overt and careless with her words. As if having feelings for him in the first place wasn’t bad enough, now she’s catching herself thinking about having _babies_ with him?

Christ on a bike. This is a goddamn catastrophe.

* * *

“Remind me to murder Marius when he and Coco get back,” Éponine grouches as she sets her phone back down on the coffee table, her already sour mood made worse by having just seen another Instagram post from Cosette detailing her and Marius’ babymoon in Hawaii. “The fucker should be here suffering through finals with us. Not lounging around on the beach somewhere.”

Enjolras chuckles softly and pets Chou Chou’s head, reaching across the coffee table with his free hand to grab a chip out of the bag of Lays on the table. “We’re graduating to flex on him, remember?”

Despite her sullen mood, Éponine can’t help but laugh at how foreign the words sound coming out of Enjolras’ mouth. It kind of reminds her of the one and only time he used the word “dope” back in their sophomore year of high school after hearing Grantaire saying it. “I mean, yeah, I guess.”

It’s a Saturday night in late May, Gavroche having left half an hour ago to attend senior prom with friends. Meanwhile, Cosette and Marius left for Hawaii earlier that week, just four days ago. (They’ve been very active on social media lately, rubbing it in everyone else’s faces, however unintentional it may be. Cosette just recently posted a picture of them walking along the beach with its clear blue water and sparkling white sands, him in swim trunks and her in a black-and-white polka-dot one-piece, his arm around her shoulders, her hands cradling her growing baby bump. Show-offs.) They’d asked Éponine, Enjolras, and Gavroche to dog-sit for them while they’re gone. Éponine and Enjolras lie around the rather disorderly living room with coursebooks and worksheets strewn across the coffee table, laptops open on the sofa and an armchair. Chou Chou lies contentedly on the rug, wagging his tail whenever Enjolras pets him.

“So what do you think about getting a new sibling, Chou Chou?” Éponine calls to the dog, giggling at how he perks up at the sound of his own name. He barks once in response, and Éponine’s giggles turn into full-on laughter.

Enjolras gazes at her with a bit of a goofy little smile on his face as she leans back against the sofa cushions, throwing her head back and sighing. “Maybe we should get a dog,” she muses absently, smiling to herself.

He raises his eyebrows questioningly. “‘We’?”

Her face flushes red. _Damn it, Éponine, Freudian slip much?_ “I meant I,” she amends, feigning a scoff to play it off and making a big show of rolling her eyes.

He just smiles, teasing. “Sure, Nina.”

They occasionally glance at the wall clock as time passes, ordering pizza at some point around six o’clock and grabbing a bottle of gin out of their small liquor cabinet to wash it down while they study for finals, or at least attempt to. Lying around the living room and passing the gin back and forth between themselves, they quiz each other and review their notes, comforted by the knowledge that this will all be over soon and they’ll finally be free. Chou Chou falls asleep sometime past eight, lying on the sofa, his head in Éponine’s lap.

“Is getting drunk really the best idea when we’re trying to study for finals?” Enjolras wonders aloud eventually, taking the half-empty bottle of gin from Éponine and staring at its contents, shaking the bottle slightly and watching as the liquid swishes around. She’s drunk quite a bit more of it than he has, he thinks.

“I don’t know about you, but _I’m_ not drunk,” she replies stubbornly, scoffing at the very idea. “Then again, I can drink you under the fucking table.”

He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, a bit of a smirk on his lips. “Really? Who was it again that vomited up a week’s worth of food and drink that morning back in junior year?”

She narrows her eyes and scowls at him, the look on her face sour. “That was eight years ago. I was seventeen. Shut up.”

He only laughs, shaking his head, thinly veiled amusement in his blue eyes. She sticks her tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry.

Another half hour passes before Éponine gives up, slamming one of her coursebooks shut and standing up after carefully moving Chou Chou’s head out of her lap. Enjolras watches as she practically stomps down the hallway to their bedrooms and disappears into hers momentarily, emerging moments later with her guitar. She plops down on the sofa once again, strumming and humming and watching Enjolras as he continues to type up his notes on his laptop.

“Ugh, come on, Gabe.” Éponine throws her head back and rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “We’ve been studying for the past three hours. I think we can afford to take a break.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and closes his laptop, giving her a pointed look, with raised eyebrows and a close-lipped smile. “Alright, fine.”

He sits in an armchair by the window, turning on a lamp to illuminate the pages of his copy of _The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo_ , which Combeferre recommended to him a few months back, listening to Éponine croon out some Vance Joy song as she plucks at her guitar strings. It’s a nice respite from all their cramming.

He pages through the book, taking his time in taking it in. He only recently got himself a copy and is only about a third of the way through. It’s riveting. He looks up briefly to look at Éponine, calling out her name. “Hey, Nina?”

She looks up, one eyebrow raised. “What’s up?”

He holds up the book for her to look at. “I think you’d really like this.”

She laughs a little sceptically. “All the books you’ve ever recommended me took me, like, six months to finish. I don’t think I have that kind of time.”

He just smiles. “Of course you do. And this one isn’t going to take you six months to finish, I promise.”

She eyes the cover, reading the title and wrinkling her nose. “Sounds heterosexual.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Trust me, it isn’t. Not at all. I really think you’d like this.”

She narrows her eyes at him, a corner of her mouth quirking up in the tiniest grin. After a while, she nods. “Alright, then. I’ll think about it.”

Gavroche returns at sixteen minutes to midnight, by which point Éponine and Enjolras have popped some popcorn and turned on a Disney movie, with her sitting on the floor behind the coffee table as he sits on the sofa, Chou Chou sleeping by his side. They look up at the sound of the door opening and see Gavroche walking in, wearing the blue tux he’s rented for the night, his mop of blond hair more of a mess than usual. He stops in his tracks when he sees Éponine and Enjolras there in the living room, staring at them incredulously.

“Jesus, you guys are still up?” he asks, disbelief dripping from his tone. Chou Chou wakes up at the sound of his voice and barks once, leaping off the sofa. Éponine and Enjolras watch as Chou Chou bounds towards Gavroche, jumping up on his hind legs and placing his paws on Gavroche’s shoulders to steady himself, joyfully slobbering all over his face. Éponine snorts.

“He really likes you, doesn’t he?” she remarks. Gavroche just gives her and Enjolras another weird look before he traipses off to his bedroom, Chou Chou at his heels. Once he’s disappeared into his room, Éponine laughs, long and dry.

“What’s he being all judgy for?” She rolls her eyes as she downs the last of the gin, slamming the empty bottle back down on the coffee table and arching her back, stretching out her limbs. Letting out a giant yawn, she grabs the remote and pauses _Enchanted_ , glancing back at Enjolras with a slight grin. “Come on, I think it’s high time we get some sleep.”

He gets up without protest, gathering his things to carry them back to his room. He waits patiently as she does the same, walking with her down the hallway to their bedrooms. She stops at her door, waits for him to get to his. Managing to turn the doorknob with the crook of her elbow, she kicks the door open and looks up at him with a grin. He smiles back, drawing a deep breath and letting it back out.

“Good night, Nina,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes tender.

She smiles. Dimples appear in her cheeks. “See you in the morning, Gabe.”

* * *

Éponine rolls over with a guttural groan, blindly groping for her phone when she feels herself hanging nearly halfway off the edge of her bed. After inadvertently knocking her alarm clock and the framed photograph of Enjolras and herself at their high school graduation off her nightstand, she finally finds her phone and snatches it up, lifting her head to peek at the screen. She frowns and props herself up on her arm when she’s greeted by Cosette’s caller ID, a picture of her with Chou Chou filling up the screen. Éponine picks up, holding the phone up to her ear. “Coco?”

 _“Panini!”_ Cosette sounds rather breathless on the other end, and Éponine hears her draw a sharp breath before exhaling again. _“It’s happening—the baby’s coming—”_

“What?!” Éponine sits bolt upright in bed, eyes wide. “Holy shit, where are you right now?”

Cosette lets out a feeble laugh. _“Calm down. I’m pretty sure I’ve been in labour for a while now, but my water’s just broken. But there’s still plenty of time before the baby comes. Honestly, I think Marius is more freaked out than I am.”_

Éponine laughs weakly as she swings her legs over the edge of her bed. She wouldn’t expect anything less from Marius. “So what are you going to do now?” she asks, leaning down to pick up her alarm clock and set it back on her nightstand, glancing at the time as she does so. It’s fifteen minutes to four in the morning.

 _“Well, I’ve called my doctor,”_ Cosette says. _“She told us to stay home for as long as possible before leaving for the hospital. We’ll be taking off at six. Marius is packing us a hospital bag. I think I’ll take a shower, do my makeup before we go.”_

Éponine laughs again, for real this time. “Of course you would. You’re handling this remarkably well, by the way.”

As if on cue, she hears the faint sound of an obviously panicked Marius shouting frantically on the other end, _“Pookie, where’s the car seat?!”_ followed by Chou Chou’s loud barks. She snorts and rolls her eyes.

“Well, at least one of you is,” she rectifies. “What do you want me to do?”

 _“Can you ask Gavroche to come over to my place to look after Chou Chou, while Marius and I are at the hospital?”_ Cosette requests, rather apprehensive. _“This just happened so soon—my due date isn’t for another two weeks—we haven’t found a dog-sitter yet, and Chou Chou and Gav have always loved each other so much—”_

“I’ll ask him,” Éponine interjects reassuringly. “Don’t worry.”

 _“Can you come this morning?”_ Cosette asks. _“It’s just that… I want you to be in the delivery room with me and Marius and my mom, when it happens…”_ She trails off.

Éponine bites her lip. “Yes, of course.”

 _“Okay.”_ Cosette’s tone of voice seems to have become considerably lighter. _“Okay! I’ll call you when we leave for the hospital, okay?”_ She sucks in a deep breath then, exhaling moments later. _“Oh, my God, I’m having a_ baby _!”_

“You’re having a baby,” Éponine echoes, rather dazed as she looks out her window. It’s still dark out, the lights of the city bright against the pitch black.

 _“Okay, I gotta go now.”_ She can _hear_ the giddy smile in Cosette’s voice. _“Bye! See you later!”_

Once Cosette hangs up, Éponine slides her feet into her narwhal slippers and gets up, striding briskly towards the door as she slips her phone into the pocket of her sleep shorts. She finds Enjolras fast asleep when she creeps into his room, curled up under the covers, his duvet pulled up to his neck. She walks up to the side of the bed he’s sleeping on, taking a moment to simply watch him sleep, admire the way his long golden lashes flutter every now and then, before she shakes him, rather violently at that, and he immediately jerks awake.

He flails about for a few seconds before he sees that it’s just her, his breaths coming in harsh, heavy, as incredulous blue eyes meet her brown. “Jesus _Christ_ , Nina,” he mutters, exhaling. “What was that all about?”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d wake you up.” There’s a bit of an impish grin on her face as she sits at the edge of his bed, her hand on his thigh, the duvet acting as a barrier. He ignores how that simple fact makes his heart beat just a tad bit faster.

He blinks, once, twice. “Why on earth were you up in the first place?”

“Oh, Coco called me.” She glances at the chipped nail polish on her fingernails and makes a mental note to redo it at some point later this week. “She’s in labour.”

That gets his attention. “ _What?_ ” He immediately sits up, spine straight, concern written all over his face. Her breath catches in her throat.

 _Fuck._ She’s forgotten about his tendency to sleep shirtless during the summer months.

Forcing herself to tear her gaze away from his abs, she looks up just in time to hear him ask, “Is she okay?”

She snorts. “Of course she’s okay. She’s in labour, she’s not _dying_.” A brief pause. “She says she and Marius are going to the hospital at six this morning. I’m assuming she’ll have called all the others by then and we’ll all be there, except for Gav.” When Enjolras raises an eyebrow quizzically at that, Éponine explains, “She asked me to ask him to look after Chou Chou while she and Marius are at the hospital. They’ve always had a weird sort of bond, haven’t they?”

Enjolras chuckles with a slight roll of his eyes. “They have.”

“So,” she says, standing up as he slides his legs over the edge of the bed, “we should probably go shower and make ourselves a little more presentable unless we want to show up at the hospital in our pyjamas. Which Adrien, R, and Joseph will probably do.”

He laughs, sliding out of bed to grab a shirt out of his closet. Her gaze lingers on his toned back muscles for a little too long once his back is turned to her. “Alright, then.”

Three hours later, they’re off to the hospital Cosette gave them the address of after dropping Gavroche off at Cosette and Marius’ Upper West Side brownstone, crammed into the subway with scarcely any room to breathe. The late August heat beats down on them, the sun shining bright in the sky as they walk into the blissfully air-conditioned hospital and ask where the delivery ward is. When they reach it, they find Combeferre, Jehan, Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet already in the waiting room, waiting around and twiddling their thumbs.

Combeferre gets up to greet them when they arrive, pointing at the doors down the hall. “Cosette’s in there,” he says, directing the words mostly at Éponine. “She asked for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Éponine murmurs, looking at the doors with their glazed windows. “So do I just walk in there or something?”

Combeferre laughs good-naturedly. “Just tell them who you’re here to see. I’m sure she’s asked about you. I’m sure they’ll let you in.”

Éponine juts out her bottom lip in contemplation. It’s worth a shot. She turns to Enjolras and hugs him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll keep you updated,” she tells him once she pulls back. “No pictures, though. Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet laugh. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t think Cosette would appreciate that very much.”

She grins and waves as she walks up to the counter to ask for the delivery room Cosette’s currently in, watching the doors swing shut behind her once the hospital staff allow her in. She soon finds the room, seeing Cosette lying on her side in the hospital bed and shakily breathing in and out as Fantine sits at her bedside feeding her ice chips and stroking her sweat-stained brow while Marius paces back and forth, back and forth, hyperventilating. Éponine throws him a weird look before pulling up a chair to sit beside Fantine, taking Cosette’s hand between hers.

Éponine grins, remarking, “Wow, you actually did your makeup.”

Cosette scrunches up her face and sticks her tongue out at her. “Of course I did, I need to make a good first impression on my baby.” She sharply inhales then, grimacing in discomfort as she presses a hand to her swollen belly.

Fantine laughs softly and brushes some stringy hair out of Cosette’s face, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’re doing amazing, baby girl,” she tells her. “You’re handling it much better than I did when I had you, anyway.”

Cosette lets out a weak giggle at that. “Well, I did get an epidural.”

Éponine squeezes Cosette’s hand. “A bunch of the others are already here. The rest are coming. And Gabriel and I dropped Gav off at your place, to stay with Chou Chou.”

Cosette smiles. “Thank you, Panini.”

Éponine laughs at the ridiculous childhood nickname that Cosette continues to call her by even though it’s been almost twenty years. She presses her lips to Cosette’s knuckles with an encouraging smile, dimples in her cheeks. “No problem, Coco.”

She glances over at Marius, watching him pace back and forth, muttering to himself, cheeks red, eyes wide. She wrinkles her nose. “Marius looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“I did say he’s more freaked out about it than I am over the phone, didn’t I?” Cosette quips in response, before drawing a sharp breath once again. “Oof…”

“Breathe. You’ll get through this.” Fantine kisses her daughter’s forehead once again, stroking her blonde hair. Éponine gets up to wander over to the window, staring out at the streets below, at Central Park just across the street from the hospital complex. Taking her phone out of the pocket of her sweatpants, she texts Enjolras, **everything’s fine. i mean, i don’t really know how having a baby is supposed to go, but everything looks fine. marius looks ready to shit himself. fantine’s with cosette. i’ll keep you updated :) has anyone else arrived btw??**

It’s mere moments later when he texts her back. She sits down on the small twin bed she assumes Marius is to sleep in when they stay overnight.

**Gabriel ❤️: Marc, R, Adrien, and your sister have arrived. R is in his pajamas; Adrien is surprisingly not.**

Éponine laughs to herself at that anecdote. **well, tell me whenever the others arrive. i’ll be here. probably trying to keep marius from fainting. god help me.**

She looks up as Cosette’s doctor enters the room and stands back up. Time to bear witness to the supposed miracle of birth.

* * *

Éponine never realised how _long_ labour can last until it’s nearly sixteen hours later, the sun having gone down right around the time the baby came out. She’s still wondering how Cosette didn’t fall asleep halfway through from the sheer exhaustion of it all. She’s still wondering how Cosette didn’t punch her in the face when she kept incessantly singing “Push It” for the better part of two hours in an attempt to help her get through the labour. Good thing she has a sense of humour.

The baby, a boy, as it turns out, came out about two hours ago, during which time Marius cried even harder than he did at his and Cosette’s wedding, they got moved to a postpartum room, and Cosette nursed the baby for the first time before falling asleep not long after. Éponine went with Fantine to give the others the news since Marius was too much of a blubbering mess to do it himself.

It’s a little bit past eleven p.m. now, Cosette still fast asleep under the dim yellow lights, and Marius lets Éponine bring Enjolras in, the two of them being their first visitors, so to speak. Fantine slipped out earlier to the cafeteria downstairs, not having eaten much in the past fifteen hours. Shortly after handing the baby over to Éponine, Marius conks out on his uncomfortable-looking cot on the other side of the room, leaving Éponine and Enjolras sitting there on the couch with the newest member of the Pontmercy-Fauchelevent family.

Éponine stares at the baby in her arms, eyebrows furrowed as she stares at him. George Samuel Pontmercy-Fauchelevent. Apparently named after Marius’ late father Georges. Cosette mentioned something about calling him Georgie. George sounds way too grown-up for a newborn baby. Éponine agrees.

Georgie’s so little, Éponine thinks as she gently bounces the baby, Enjolras sitting beside her and watching her. Eight pounds and eleven ounces. He’s got tufts of blond hair on his head, his little face pink. She caught a glimpse of his eyes earlier, when he was awake; he’s got Marius’ hazel eyes. She wonders if that’ll change.

Éponine frowns. “I don’t get what all the fuss is about,” she mutters to Enjolras under her breath. “Newborn babies are ugly as fuck.”

He rolls his eyes with a dry laugh, reaching out to touch Georgie’s chubby cheek. He glances out of the corner of his eye to see if Cosette or Marius heard her, only to see that they’re still fast asleep. “Not to their parents, I’m guessing.”

He gazes at her, unaware of how his mouth has formed a tiny, fond smile at the sight of her holding Georgie, staring at him curiously, like she’s not quite sure what to make of him yet. Something about seeing her with a baby in her arms makes his breathing go rather shallow, makes his heart race just a little. It’s a good look on her. He wonders what she might be like as a mother. If she even wants to be a mother in the first place.

“Do you ever want children, Nina?” he asks out of the blue, unthinking. Almost instantly, her head snaps up, brown eyes rather wide as they meet his blue.

She considers it for several nearly agonisingly long moments, staring into his eyes as her chest rises and falls with rather heavy breaths before breaking his gaze and looking back down at Georgie. She bites her lip, shrugging nonchalantly. “Depends on who I’d be having kids with. But yeah, I think I do want kids at some point. Not now, but someday.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a playful grin on her face. “Why, do _you_ ever want kids, Gabriel?”

He chuckles and turns his gaze downward, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Same as you, really. It might depend on whom I’d be having children with. But yes. I do want to be a father someday.”

“Hm.” Éponine smiles, scooting closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder. He leans his head back against hers, and they gaze at little Georgie, watching him sleep. They don’t know how long it’s been by the time his eyes blink open, and, to their alarm, he promptly opens his mouth and begins to wail.

Éponine lifts her head from Enjolras’ shoulder, the two of them exchanging panicked looks, wondering what they should do just when they see Cosette stirring in her hospital bed out of the corners of their eyes. Disoriented, she sits up, her entire face scrunched up as she turns towards them. “Here, give him to me,” she mumbles. Fleetingly, they wonder if she’s still half-asleep.

Éponine does as she’s told, sitting down at the edge of the hospital bed after she’s handed Georgie over to Cosette, who beckons Enjolras over as well once Georgie’s quiet again, happily gulping down milk and paying little attention to anything outside of his mother. Enjolras drags a chair over and rather awkwardly sits down, keeping his gaze firmly on Cosette’s face. “What is it?”

Cosette glances over at Marius, still snoozing away, fully clothed, on the cot provided for him in a corner. Éponine bites back a snort at how uncomfortable he looks even in slumber, too damn tall for the cot and needing to contort himself quite a bit to fit under the thin blankets provided. Cosette just smiles fondly at her husband. “More than once, I thought the dork was genuinely about to faint.”

“Oh, he was,” Éponine tells her. “Keeping him upright for all that time was fucking _exhausting_.”

Cosette raises her eyebrows at her. “You know, if you keep swearing like that around Georgie, I might change my mind about you being godmother.”

Éponine laughs before abruptly cutting herself off when she realises what Cosette just said, brown eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

Cosette smiles at her and Enjolras. “Marius and I wanted to ask you two if you’d be Georgie’s godparents,” she says, letting out a tiny giggle at the similar looks of shock on their faces. “Well, it was mostly my idea. Marius had wanted to make Adrien godfather, but I’ve known him for _much_ longer than Marius has, and, no offence to Adrien, he’d be a terrible choice for godfather, wouldn’t he?”

Éponine flashes Enjolras a smirk. “Told ya.” He just rolls his eyes and shakes his head in response.

Cosette laughs. “Seeing as I’ve known you two since we were seven and I can count on you to stick around… will you be the godparents?”

“I… uh…” Éponine catches herself stumbling on her words, rendered speechless. Enjolras takes Cosette’s hand and squeezes it.

“We’d be honoured,” he says with a smile. Cosette beams.

Éponine leans over and brushes her fingers over Georgie’s little head, marvelling at the soft baby hairs. “He’s so little,” she whispers in awe.

Cosette snorts. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you pushed eight pounds and eleven ounces out of your vagina.”

“You got an epidural, though, didn’t you?” Éponine points out, running her thumb over Georgie’s chubby cheek.

“Yeah. I highly recommend it if you ever have a baby.” And then she gives them both this _look_ , this strange, knowing look that weirds out the both of them for reasons they can’t quite discern. Éponine decides to brush it off moments afterward, while Enjolras dwells on it for a little while more, cheeks rather pink. Cosette simply smiles, still looking like she knows something they don’t. They decide not to ask. She’d probably just give them some cryptic non-answer anyway.

When Georgie is done feeding, Cosette asks if Enjolras would like to hold him, instructing him to use hand sanitiser first before taking the baby into his arms. Éponine watches as he gingerly takes the infant from Cosette, listening intently to her instructions to support the head and neck. He soon has little Georgie in a cradle hold, staring down at his new godson with a small smile of quiet awe on his lips.

The thought of what Enjolras would be like as a father crosses Éponine’s mind for a fleeting moment. Her breath catches in her throat.

She forces the image out of her head and it’s gone as quickly as it came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i highly, _highly_ recommend the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid, to anyone who hasn't read it! definitely one of my top five favourite books.


	21. a dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine finds herself a furry little friend.

* * *

Enjolras has nearly forgotten about Éponine’s crazy determination in finding pet-friendly apartments during their apartment hunt over three years ago until she returns home one day with a furry little friend in tow.

It’s a Saturday afternoon in early November, nearly two weeks after his twenty-sixth birthday. Gavroche has moved out of the apartment and into an NYU dorm, so now it’s just Éponine and Enjolras in the apartment, Gavroche’s old room mostly bare save for the bed and a nightstand. They’ve both taken the bar and found jobs at small law firms at this point, with her in family law, specialising in child advocacy, and him in civil rights law. It’s quite a bit less exciting than their fourteen-year-old selves imagined, but rewarding nonetheless, and it pays a decent amount. That’s enough for them, at least for now.

Éponine went out hours earlier on an outing with Courfeyrac to God knows where, leaving Enjolras alone in the apartment with next to nothing to do. He sits at the breakfast bar, laptop open before him as he does research for a case, before he stops and looks up at the sound of the door opening, closely followed by what sounds suspiciously like a dog’s bark. He cocks his head and leans to the side in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her in the foyer, eyebrows furrowed. “Nina?”

Éponine walks into the living room, a sheepish grin on her face and something small and squirmy and furry in her arms. “Hey!”

Enjolras narrows his eyes, quizzical. “What is _that_?” he asks, lips forming an incredulous smile.

She shifts the thing in her arms and he can see now that it’s a dog. Still just a pup, from the looks of it; it’s a tiny little thing. Grinning, she plops herself down on the sofa, the dog lying in her lap as she rubs its belly. He gets up from the breakfast bar to come sit down next to her, blue eyes inquisitive.

“Where on earth did you and Adrien even go for you to come back with a _dog_?” he enquires, rather baffled.

She laughs, stroking the puppy’s soft red coat. “We went to visit some rescues and _good_ , _reputable_ breeders,” she says simply. “Not for me; for him. He’s been thinking about getting a new dog for a while now.”

“Yeah, I think he’s mentioned it to me a few times before.” Enjolras cracks a smile. It’s taken him a few years, but it’s nice to see that Courfeyrac is finally over Obi-Wan’s death. The same can’t really be said about himself and his mother. He pushes that thought out of his head, asking, “Did he find what he was looking for?”

“No.” Éponine lifts the puppy up, giggling when it licks her cheek. “He says he’ll go again tomorrow, with Julien.” She breaks her gaze away from the puppy to look at Enjolras, her grin so wide it looks like it might split her face in half. “I was initially just planning on tagging along, but then we went to this one breeder and she had a litter…” She turns her attention back to the dog, smiling. “I made eye contact with this one and I just knew she was _the one_.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes with a little laugh, giving the dog a pat on the head. “It’s a girl, then?”

“Yup,” Éponine confirms, popping the ‘P’.

“Have you named her yet?”

“No, actually, I was hoping you’d help me with that. It’d be fun, I think.”

She looks up at him, meeting his eyes. “I kind of want to name her something nature-based. I’ve always liked those kinds of names for dogs.” She looks back down at the dog and breathes out a tiny laugh. “Probably not Daisy or Lily or anything like that, though. They’re so overused.”

“Rhododendron? Chrysanthemum?” he suggests. She gives him a weird look. “You could call her Rhodie or Chrissy for short.”

She rolls her eyes with a snort. “Of course you’d suggest something like that.” She looks down at the dog. “I think I’d prefer something that isn’t as much of a mouthful.”

“I suggested diminutives for those names!”

“Who the fuck says ‘diminutives’ in normal conversation?”

The dog barks at them, demanding attention once more. Éponine laughs, rather startled, and brings the dog up to nuzzle her nose against hers. “What do _you_ think your name should be, puppy?” she chirps in a ridiculous baby voice that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. The dog just barks again in response.

“Ivy?”

“Nah.”

“Camellia?”

“Sounds stuffy.”

“Buttercup?”

“Does she _look_ like a Buttercup?”

Enjolras sighs as they volley suggestions back and forth, the dog staring intently at Éponine all the while. He absently touches her red coat. The colour gives him an idea. “Well, what about Ginger?”

The dog barks at that, seemingly in agreement. Éponine laughs and lifts her up, kissing her furry forehead. “Shit, that’s perfect for her, why didn’t I think of that?” The dog barks again, and Éponine coos. “Aww, you like that? You want to be called Ginger? Okay, it’s settled, then, your name is Ginger.”

She laughs when Ginger starts lapping at her cheek, giggling at the ticklish feeling. Enjolras watches them, reaching out to pet Ginger’s fluffy red coat and questioning, “What breed is she?”

“Cavapoochon,” Éponine replies, eyes still on Ginger, laughing under her breath at how she paws at the locket resting against her chest.

Enjolras cocks his head, eyebrows drawing together in bemusement. “Cava- _what_?”

She grins at him, laughter in her brown eyes. “Cavapoochon,” she repeats. “It’s a triple-cross breed. Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Toy Poodle, and Bichon Frise.” She holds Ginger up against her cheek, beaming. “Isn’t she cute?”

He can’t help but smile, rather endeared. “Adorable.”

She puts Ginger down in her lap, where the dog immediately rolls onto her back. Éponine rolls her eyes with a soft laugh and starts rubbing Ginger’s belly, saying all the while, “I think I’ll take her on playdates with Toby or Chou Chou or something. It’d be nice for her to make friends with other dogs.”

Enjolras snorts. “I thought Toby didn’t like other dogs very much.”

“He’s just shy, that’s all,” Éponine says. “He prefers humans to other dogs.” She lifts Ginger up to kiss her forehead. “She’s about nine weeks old, the breeder said. She’ll need lots and lots of human interaction for the first few months, and she’ll need to be properly trained and house-broken.” She looks back at Enjolras with a smile. “But we’ll manage just fine, won’t we?”

“‘We’?” He arches an eyebrow, sceptical.

“So you’re not going to help me train Ginger?” She pouts, narrowing her eyes at him in mock disappointment. “I thought we did everything together.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs quietly despite himself. “She’s _your_ dog, isn’t she?” When she shoots him a betrayed look, he laughs again and kisses her forehead. “I’m kidding. She _is_ your dog, though. But I’ll help you train her.”

She scrunches up her face and smiles saccharinely at him, cooing in a baby voice, “Love you, Gabey.”

He rolls his eyes again, laughing under his breath. “Love you, too.”

She holds Ginger’s paw up, making her wave at him. “So does Ginger.”

At that, he just snorts. “Yeah, alright.”

* * *

“So, Ép, when are you gonna ask Gabe out?” Grantaire presses as he leans back against the tree they sit under, watching Ginger chasing Toby and Chou Chou around in the distance. Cosette hums in agreement and shoots Éponine a pointed look, raising her eyebrows as she bounces Georgie in her lap.

Éponine groans and grabs her can of Coke, chugging quite a bit and letting out a long burp that makes Georgie laugh. “Why do you keep asking me that?” she questions, exasperated. “I’ve told you a million times before, _he doesn’t feel the same way_.”

Cosette frowns in dissent. “How are you so sure of that?”

Éponine lets out an incredulous laugh, almost a scoff, like she can’t believe Cosette really just asked her that. “Coco, I’ve known him longer than I’ve known my own brother. I know him like the back of my hand. If he did have feelings for me, I’m pretty sure I’d be the first to know.”

“Or maybe you really are as much of an oblivious fucking idiot as he is,” Grantaire deadpans, wincing when Cosette shoots him a death glare and makes a point of covering Georgie’s ears. “Sorry.”

Éponine wrinkles her nose. “What do you mean? I’m not _that_ obvious.” Is she?

Grantaire cackles. The sound startles Georgie a little, and he begins to frown, his chin wobbling. Cosette quickly scoops him up and holds him to her chest, shushing him gently. Bouncing him in her arms, she presses a kiss to his chubby cheek as Grantaire drawls, “Babe, I think the only person who _doesn’t_ know is Gabe himself.”

Éponine flips him off just as Ginger comes bounding back towards her and straight into her lap, cuddle-bug that she is, tail wagging enthusiastically. Éponine giggles and lifts her up to press kisses all over her furry little face just as Chou Chou and Toby return as well. Georgie screams in delight and immediately tries pulling himself out of Cosette’s arms to crawl over to Chou Chou, shoving his little face in the dog’s thick white fur. Éponine laughs out loud at the sight, hugging Ginger tighter. Toby whines and curls up in Grantaire’s lap, a grumpy look on his face. Then again, he always seems to have a grumpy look on his face.

It’s a gorgeous spring day, the three of them having taken advantage of the sunshine to go on a picnic, bringing their dogs and Georgie along. Éponine can’t help but laugh at how massive Chou Chou looks next to Toby, with Ginger being somewhere in the middle in terms of size. She wanted to invite Enjolras along on their impromptu picnic, but those hopes were dashed late that morning, when he told her he was going out to grab lunch with Feuilly.

Éponine watches as Georgie struggles to his feet and manages to stand up for about three seconds, gripping Chou Chou’s face, before he falls on his ass again. Cosette laughs and takes him into her arms, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He’s quite big for an eight-month-old baby, having grown a lot over the past several months, now with a full head of wavy hair the same colour as Cosette’s. In terms of appearance, he looks an awful lot like his mother, except for the hazel eyes and freckles, courtesy of his father.

Éponine reaches over and lifts Georgie up, holding him close to her chest and laughing when he giggles and blows a raspberry in her face. Ginger perks up, lifting her head up from Éponine’s thigh to playfully bark at the baby, much to his delight. Éponine glances at Cosette with a smile as she bounces her godson. “When did he get so big?”

Cosette shrugs and beams, blue eyes shining. “I don’t know.”

“He’s a big-ass baby,” Grantaire comments, reaching over to brush his fingers over Georgie’s soft blond hair. He winces again when Cosette shoots him another reprimanding look.

“ _Stop_ swearing around my baby!” she scolds. “Oh, my God!”

“He _is_ really big for an eight-month-old, though,” Éponine agrees with Grantaire, taking Georgie’s hand and pretending to dance with him. The baby giggles, thoroughly basking in the attention. “He looks like you, but I think he’ll take after Marius in height.”

Cosette laughs, petting Chou Chou as he lies down, laying his head in her lap. “I think so, too.”

“He’ll be a beanpole, then.” Grantaire lifts Toby up and sticks him out in Georgie’s direction. Georgie swipes at Toby with his chubby baby hands, trying to grab him and pouting when he whines in protest. Grantaire frowns at the Yorkie, asking in concern, “What’s the matter with you, buddy? Huh? Georgie is a human. You’re usually such an attention whore when it comes to humans.”

“ _R_ ,” Cosette grits, a final edge of warning to her voice. “Seriously.”

Grantaire sets Toby down in his lap and puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m _sorry_! You try growing out of a potty mouth!”

“She doesn’t have one to grow out of,” Éponine quips, looking into Georgie’s eyes with a smile. Ginger barks happily as she places her front paws on Éponine’s thigh, propping herself up to look at Georgie with interest.

The baby sneezes in Éponine’s face, wrinkling his little button nose, then attempts to twist around in her arms, crying out, “Mama!”

All three of them freeze. The dogs seem to sense their excitement and look up at them. Cosette grabs Georgie from Éponine as Grantaire asks, “Did he just say his first word?”

“I think he did,” Cosette says in amazement, bouncing Georgie in her arms. She coos, “Can you say that again, Georgie, baby? Can you say Mama?”

Georgie giggles and reaches up to press his chubby little hands to Cosette’s cheeks, saying, “Mama! Mama!”

Éponine laughs, picking Ginger up and hugging her to her chest. Ginger snuggles up against her, pleased at being held in such a warm embrace. Grantaire takes a spontaneous video of Cosette nearly crying as Georgie, clearly delighting in the reaction it gets out of his mother, keeps on saying “Mama” again and again and again. Éponine holds Ginger tighter. She looks down at the dog, smiling at her when she bats a paw at her cheek.

“I think Gabriel’s kind of jealous of you,” she confides in Ginger, laughing softly when she gives a single bark in response.

Cosette looks up, having just put Georgie down to sit next to her and handed him a Ziploc of Cheerios for him to snack on. “What was that?”

Éponine just smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing.”

* * *

Enjolras watches Éponine lying on the rug by the fireplace, Ginger lying on her chest and licking at her face, making her giggle. It’s early May, Courfeyrac’s birthday, and they’re at his parents’ Long Island house for his birthday party after his older siblings came home and insisted on throwing him a big bash for his twenty-sixth. Most of the others are in the backyard right now, probably gorging themselves on cake and beer. Last Enjolras saw, Courfeyrac was with his brother and sister, the three of them going through an old photo album and reminiscing about Obi-Wan.

At some point, Éponine takes notice of Enjolras just sitting there on the couch watching her and Ginger, and she grins. “You want to play with her?”

He cracks a wry little smile, shaking his head. “I’m good, thank you.”

She scrunches up her face back at him before sitting up with a groan, Ginger in her arms. He watches as she hops to her feet, looking at the framed photographs on the mantel and mounted on the wall, carrying Ginger around to look at them. He feels rather left out, then mentally berates himself for feeling left out because Ginger is a _dog_ , for Christ’s sake, he’s being _ridiculous_ for being jealous of a fucking _dog_. He jumps a little when Éponine calls out his name and startles him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Gabe!”

His head snaps up. “Yeah?”

“Come look at these pictures with us!” She beckons him over with a wave of her hand, Ginger secure in her other arm, and he can’t help but notice her usage of “us”. Huh. So she’s started regarding Ginger and herself as a unit. How nice.

With a slight laugh, Enjolras gets to his feet, walking over to Éponine and following her gaze to the photographs of Courfeyrac and his family and friends. They show up in a few of them—childhood candids of them playing on a playground in Central Park, the group photo they’d taken at the entrance during senior prom, high school graduation pictures. There’s a picture of Courfeyrac with Enjolras and Combeferre at pride, glitter on their faces and using their flags as capes, during the summer after senior year, standing between them with his arms around their shoulders, up on his tippy toes in his attempt to match their height (he was unsuccessful). Éponine lets out a dry little laugh at that.

“He’s got a bit of a Napoleon complex, doesn’t he?” she remarks, readjusting Ginger in her arms.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, stifling a snort. “I wouldn’t go that far.” When she gives him a _look_ , eyebrows arched, he sighs and relents with a small laugh. “Maybe sometimes.”

Éponine reaches out to run her fingers over a picture of her and Courfeyrac at their homecoming dance in junior year, when he planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek just as the camera went off. She pulls a face, wrinkling her nose. “Why did I ever think bangs looked good on me?” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “I think I just really wanted to hide my widow’s peak. I can’t believe I had bangs for _four years_. Ew.”

“You looked cute,” Enjolras gently contradicts.

She looks up at him, the curl of her lip slowly morphing into a little grin as she meets his eyes. “Aww, thanks, Gabe. You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

“No, I mean it.” A corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a half-smile. “I thought it was cute.”

The wry, jokingly disbelieving look in her eyes morphs into something more genuine. He smiles, unable to stop himself as he rambles on, “Then again, I thought you looked cute in anything, so…” He shuts himself up before he can go on any further, cheeks growing warm.

She raises her eyebrows, absently stroking Ginger’s head. “You thought? Past tense?” She pouts at him, feigning hurt. “You don’t think I’m cute now?”

He laughs softly, reaching out to brush some hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. She swallows when his fingers brush against her cheek, her eyes wandering to catch a momentary glimpse of the sun tattooed on his inner wrist. “No, I still do. More than that, actually. You’re even more beautiful now.”

Éponine’s breath catches in her throat as she slowly drags her gaze up to meet his once again, her breathing rather shallow. She doesn’t know what to say next. For a fleeting moment, her gaze drifts to his lips and she starts leaning in before she snaps out of it seconds later. “Shut up,” she mutters, blushing something fierce as she stares down at her shoes.

Enjolras laughs wryly. “Wow. I compliment you and you tell me to shut up?”

“Shut up!” she says again, looking back up into his eyes and playfully swatting at his arm. “You know I don’t know how to take compliments!”

He retracts his hand with a roll of his eyes, a fond, exasperated smile on his lips. “Well, then, you should learn how to.” He gazes at Ginger for a few moments, the dog having remained perfectly quiet throughout his and Éponine’s entire exchange, and smiles as he pets her head and finds Éponine’s eyes again. “You’re beautiful, Nina. Anyone can see that.”

She kind of sort of really wants to kiss him right now. It takes all of her willpower not to do something so incredibly, stupidly impulsive. “You’re not so bad-looking yourself,” she tells him with an impish grin. What an understatement.

Ginger bats at her locket as she’s gotten into the habit of doing, and Éponine says, “Anyway, I’m going to take Ginger out to the backyard, let her stretch her legs a little bit.” She leans down and sets Ginger on the ground, turning on her heel. “Come on, Ginger!”

Enjolras watches her disappear into the back, leaving him standing alone in front of the fireplace, hands in his pants pockets. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone enter the living room. He hears Feuilly say, “You want some?”

Turning, Enjolras sees how Feuilly’s brought two paper plates of birthday cake over, and he smiles at him gratefully as he takes one. “Thank you.” He cuts a small piece out of his slice, sticking it in his mouth. He’s always been partial to red velvet, but rainbow cake isn’t bad.

“I was watching you and Éponine for a bit there,” Feuilly says, before seeming to realise how that came out wrong and quickly backtracking. “Not for an awfully long time. Just for a minute or two.” He cocks his head with a little smile as he asks, “How can you not see that she’s in love with you?”

Enjolras laughs, self-deprecating. “Oh, come on. She spends more time with Ginger than with me nowadays.”

Feuilly’s eyebrows furrow. “Does she, really?” His smile deepens. “No wonder you’re jealous of Ginger.”

“I am not _jealous_ , she is a _dog_ ,” Enjolras denies, cheeks turning pink. Never mind the fact that just earlier, he was pondering on how ridiculous it is that he is indeed jealous of a damn dog.

Feuilly laughs. “Alright, then.” He takes a bite out of some cake, takes his time in chewing and swallowing before he speaks again. “Éponine loves you. I can tell.”

Enjolras smiles, but it looks more like a grimace as he sits back down on the couch. “I know she does. She just doesn’t love me in that way.”

Feuilly stares at him for several moments more, like he’s not sure what else to say to convince him. Eventually, he just sighs, giving up. “Okay, then. I’m going to go out back, alright? Hang in there.”

That prompts a genuine smile from Enjolras. “Alright. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He finishes his slice of cake not long after, going into the dining room to watch the others out in the backyard through the window. His gaze drifts about, taking in the sight. It’s quite a big backyard. He can glimpse the little headstone for Obi-Wan underneath the tree in the far back.

He sees Éponine running in circles, laughing as Ginger chases after her, never seeming to tire out. The sight of it brings a smile to his face. At some point, Grantaire and Toby join in, the latter barking all the while as he joins Ginger in chasing after their humans, Grantaire’s laughter ringing out through the backyard. Enjolras watches them, contemplative.

Maybe he’ll go out and join them later.

* * *

Enjolras returns home rather late one July night from a few tipples at the bar with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, calling out, “I’m home,” as he kneels to unlace his red Chucks. Oddly enough, there’s no response from Éponine; strange, considering how she tends to go to sleep at around eleven and it’s only ten o’clock right now. He startles a little when instead, Ginger comes trotting up to him, sitting at his side and patiently waiting for him to take off his shoes.

“Hi, girl,” he murmurs, scratching her under her chin. “Where’s Nina?”

She stands back up when he does, leading him down the hall and into the living room, where Éponine’s passed out on the sofa, her guitar propped up against the armrest and the television still on. He frowns as he steps towards her, sparing a glance at the TV to see that she was halfway through _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_ when she fell asleep. Turning his gaze to the coffee table, he sees a can of Sprite and an open photo album, one of the big leather-bound ones his father gave to him. He sits down in front of the coffee table, his back to the TV, turning the album towards him. Ginger comes over and sits in his lap, much to his surprise.

“I thought you didn’t like me very much,” he says to her, scratching behind her ear. It seems he’s been mistaken, he thinks when she happily leans into his touch. With a small smile, he says, “Okay, well, I always thought you were neutral at best towards me.” She gives a small bark, not loud enough to wake Éponine, seemingly in protest. He laughs quietly. “It looks like I’ve been proven wrong.”

They sit like that for a while, not a peep out of Ginger as she curls up contentedly in Enjolras’ lap while he pages through the photo album Éponine had apparently been looking through before he came home. It’s from their college years—mostly photographs from all the times he flew back to New York to see her and his parents, and the few times he sent her a plane ticket to fly out and see him in California. He smiles to himself at their dimly-lit Polaroid selfies from his twenty-first birthday, the images illuminated almost entirely by the candles of his birthday cake.

“How did she fall asleep?” he finds himself asking Ginger. She just looks up at him through big brown eyes, blinking once, and he laughs to himself, feeling rather foolish for questioning a _dog_. “Okay, I won’t ask.”

For a brief moment there, he entertains the thought of how different the world would be if people could properly communicate with their pets. They’d probably cease to interact with their fellow humans. He snorts at the thought.

“We’ll look out for her, won’t we?” he murmurs to Ginger when she looks up at him again. His gaze drifts to Éponine, fast asleep on the sofa, wearing nothing but a T-shirt she stole from him a while back with sweat shorts underneath. “No matter what happens.”

Ginger yaps once in understanding, and he smiles down at her, patting the top of her head. “You know, you’re not so bad,” he tells her. She yaps again, more indignant this time, as if she’s taking offence at his words. He laughs and absently drops a kiss to her fluffy forehead. It’s been nine months since Éponine got her, and she still retains her puppy looks.

He glances at Éponine, still snoozing away. He wonders what could’ve made her so exhausted she didn’t even make it to her bedroom. Maybe it’s a client she’s recently taken on. She’s represented a couple of kids involved in ugly custody battles in the past year. She often complains about it to him over a shared bottle of wine out on their fire escape. Turns out shitlord parents like her own are unfortunately more common than either of them thought.

“It’s time we go to bed, don’t you think?” he says to Ginger. She glances up at him before hopping out of his lap, standing by his feet as he gently lifts Éponine up from the sofa. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake, her head falling onto his shoulder once he has her in a bridal hold. He carries her to her bedroom, Ginger trotting along at his heels, and once he’s tucked her in, he watches how Ginger abandons her cosy little bed just beside the nightstand in favour of Éponine’s, burrowing herself under the covers and snuggling up to her. Within minutes, the dog is asleep as well.

On his way out, he steals one last glance over his shoulder and cracks a tiny smile.


	22. an eye-opening conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after his twenty-seventh birthday, Enjolras has his weekly dinner with his father. They have an interesting conversation throughout.

* * *

Ever since he first moved out of his parents’ place, Enjolras has made good on his promise to come by every week for dinner.

Tonight is no exception.

Having bid Éponine and Ginger goodbye earlier, he sits in a corner of the subway car on his way to the Upper East Side, leaning his head against the cold metal as the train rushes through the tunnels. Surprisingly, the train isn’t as crowded as it usually would be, it being a Friday night towards the end of October. There _are_ quite a few people in costume on the subway, though. Enjolras takes a few discreet pictures for him and Éponine to laugh at later.

After switching trains, it’s just a few blocks to his father’s apartment building, taking his time in walking there and taking in the sights. The days are getting colder, a strong chill in the air brought on by the night, the sunset painting the sky all shades of pink and red. Enjolras absently rubs the inside of his right wrist as he watches the leaves spiral through the air, collecting in haphazard piles on the pavement. He tucks his Hufflepuff scarf back under his maroon peacoat and shoves his hands into his pockets, humming idly to himself.

He makes brief small talk with the doorman before he sends him on his way up to the penthouse. When the elevator door slides open, Enjolras sees his father in the kitchen, already halfway through his cooking. “Hi, Dad,” he calls out, making himself known as he takes his boots off to place them on the rack by the elevator. Matthieu looks up and gives him a smile.

“Gabriel! You’re early!” He beckons him over. Enjolras takes off his coat and scarf, hanging it up before going to join Matthieu in the kitchen. “Well, since you’re here now, you can help me with dinner. I thought we could use one of your mother’s old recipes.”

Enjolras runs his hand over the marble countertop, his gaze wandering to the raw sausage slices, chicken, and shrimp laid out on the counter. “Gumbo?”

Matthieu smiles and nods. “It’s been a while since we’ve had it, hasn’t it?”

Enjolras lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. What do you want me to do?”

Matthieu instructs him to stir the thick stew while he browns the sausage slices, and eventually, they settle into a rhythm, not requiring many words to work together. It kind of reminds Enjolras of his childhood days, when he’d hang around the kitchen sneaking tiny bites of cookie dough and generally being a little nuisance while his father baked for him and Lucie. He pauses in the midst of stirring, growing nostalgic at the memory. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt his mother’s absence more.

“Why did you stop?” His father’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. “You have to keep stirring it, remember?”

Enjolras looks up at him and musters a sheepish smile. “It was nothing. Sorry.”

Matthieu watches him as the gumbo gradually comes together, trying to decipher the look on his son’s face, some mixture of nostalgia and despondency. He bites his lip and says nothing more on the matter.

An hour later, more or less, they’re seated at the dining table with glasses of cold water alongside bowls of gumbo and rice. Enjolras tastes a spoonful, and his lips form a wistful little smile. “Tastes just like Mom’s.”

Matthieu smiles back, though it’s tinged with a touch of melancholy. “That was my goal.”

They make idle chit-chat as they eat, at least for those first few minutes. It’s nice, Enjolras thinks; he’s always appreciated having one-on-one time with his father, especially after his mother died. A lump forms in his throat at the memory of her, which he quickly swallows along with another mouthful of gumbo.

“So, Gabriel, how is being twenty-seven treating you so far?” Matthieu asks after a while, an expectant look on his face as he meets his son’s eyes.

Enjolras stares at his father for several moments before laughing quietly, rather self-deprecatingly, and averting his gaze, dousing his gumbo in more Tabasco. “It’s only been a week since my birthday, Dad. I think it’s too early to judge.”

Matthieu just smiles and spoons rice into his mouth. “Your mother was twenty-seven when we had you,” he mentions, then trails off.

Enjolras cracks a tiny smile. “You miss her?”

Matthieu sighs and nods. “Every day.”

“Why didn’t you ever have any more kids?” Enjolras asks, his eyebrows drawing together. Growing up, witnessing Éponine’s relationship with her siblings, he’s always wondered what it might have been like if he had some of his own.

Matthieu shrugs, looking down at his bowl. “She had three miscarriages before she got lucky with you,” he says quietly. “And her pregnancy with you was rather high-risk. We were too scared to risk it again.”

“Oh.” Rather awkwardly, Enjolras takes a sip of his water, suddenly regretting that he ever asked. Matthieu notices the look on his face and reaches out to place his hand on his shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he tells him, his voice soft. “You were more than enough for us. We love you so much.”

Enjolras’ gaze trails from his father’s hand on his shoulder to his eyes, a paler blue than his own, and he manages a smile in return. “I love you, too.”

They eat in silence after that, until halfway through, when his bowl is nearly half-empty, Enjolras speaks again. “Hey, Dad?”

Matthieu looks up from his meal. “Yes?”

“How come you’ve never been on any dates since Mom died?” Enjolras asks, rather gingerly. “It’s been four years now. And I know she would have wanted you to be happy.”

Matthieu stares at his gumbo, a pensive look in his eyes, and chuckles to himself, looking back up to meet his son’s gaze. “Yes, I know she would have,” he murmurs, lips curving into a rueful smile. “I know there’s always the possibility of finding love again, and I think that’s wonderful, but… I’m doing okay. Lucie was it for me. She was my best friend. The love of my life.”

Enjolras nods slowly, a pang in his heart. Despite himself, he wishes he could have with someone what his parents had with each other. It’s all he can do not to picture that someone as Éponine.

“But enough about me.” Matthieu’s spoon clatters into his now-empty bowl, and he leans forward with his elbows on the table, his smile a little too wide for Enjolras’ liking. “What about _you_ , Gabriel? In all of twenty-seven years, I have never seen you in a serious relationship with someone. And you have more options, don’t you? With how you like boys and girls and all those in between.”

Enjolras laughs, a hollow little sound, and sighs. “I just haven’t found ‘the one’, I guess.” He rolls his eyes a bit as he makes sardonic air quotes.

Matthieu narrows his eyes sceptically as he stares at his son, falling silent for a few moments. “I don’t think that’s true,” he pronounces at last. “I think you _have_ found the one, but you haven’t been able to work up the nerve to do anything about it.”

Enjolras’ cheeks flush. He plays dumb. “Dad, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Éponine.” Matthieu reaches out to place his hand on top of Enjolras’. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’ve looked at her like that for a long time now.”

Enjolras scoffs, feeling as if his entire face is on fire. “I don’t look at her like anything.”

Matthieu tilts his head and gives him a look that just screams, _Really?_ “I know you love her, Gabriel,” he says softly.

“Of course I do.” Enjolras bites his lip. “She’s my best friend. She has been ever since we were five. You were there, weren’t you?”

Matthieu chuckles. “Yes, I was, but that’s not what I meant.” He takes a sip of water before commenting, “You know, I always thought you two would be together by now.”

Enjolras sighs, seeing no point in trying to deny his feelings for his best friend anymore. “She doesn’t feel the same way, Dad.”

“So you admit it, at least?” Matthieu’s smile nearly splits his face in half. “You have feelings for her?”

“If I keep denying it, you’d just keep insisting that I do, and this conversation would never end,” Enjolras points out dryly. “But yes. I do. I love her. I’m in love with her.”

Matthieu positively beams. It’s scary how a middle-aged man can look so much like bubbly Cosette when he smiles like that, Enjolras thinks, mildly disturbed. “But she doesn’t feel the same way,” he reiterates once again, firmer this time.

Matthieu’s smile morphs into a bemused frown. “How are you so sure? Have you actually talked to her about it?”

“Well, no, of course not.” Enjolras snorts. Because _that_ subject would make for a conversation that totally isn’t awkward at all. “We’ve talked about what we want to do in the future, though. Separately, obviously. When Georgie was born, before Cosette woke up and told us we were his godparents, Nina told me she wants to have children someday.”

Matthieu stares at him, incredulous. “She told you she wants to have children someday and you still believe she doesn’t feel that way about you?”

“She only told me because I asked,” Enjolras clarifies with a wry smile. “She said it mostly depends on whom she’d be having children with, but she does want children at some point. And then she asked me the same question and my answer was the same as hers…” Upon seeing the look on his father’s face, he hastily adds, “But she didn’t mean anything by that. She was just curious. And besides, it was only fair that I answered the same question she did.”

“Yeah. Alright.” Matthieu still looks unconvinced. After a few beats, he asks again, “But how are you so _sure_?”

“Dad!” Enjolras gives his father a look. “I just _know_ , alright? I’ve known her since we were five. I _know_ her. And in all of nearly twenty-two years, she’s never made any indication that she feels that way about me. Trust me, if she did, I would probably be the first to know.” He laughs rather self-deprecatingly to himself, shaking his head. “But it’s okay. She’s my best friend. That’s more than enough for me.”

Matthieu bites his lip ruminatively. “Well, then, would you ever consider going on a date with someone? Just one date. I have a few friends with children about your age. I could set you up with them, if you’d like.”

Enjolras just smiles, rather doleful, rather wry, and shakes his head. “Honestly, at this point, I think there are only two options here. It would either be Nina or no one.” He looks down at his empty bowl and sighs. “It looks like it’s going to be no one.”

“Well, alright, then.” Matthieu gets up to take their dishes to the sink, rinsing them out. Enjolras trails after his father, offering to load the dishwasher for him. Matthieu gratefully accepts, telling him to wait while he goes to fetch something from his bedroom. Bewildered, Enjolras watches his father bound up the staircase with a surprising amount of agility for a fifty-six-year-old man. By the time Matthieu returns downstairs, Enjolras has turned on the dishwasher and sat down in the living room, growing even more perplexed when Matthieu sits down next to him with an envelope and a tiny package wrapped in brown paper in his hands.

“What is that?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Your mother wanted me to give you this,” Matthieu tells him, handing over the package and envelope. Enjolras turns the former over in his hands; it’s light, barely weighs anything. He wonders what it could be. “She said to give it to you when the time was right. So I suppose that’s now.” He chuckles. “And I was recently cleaning up again and found another photo album for you. You can take it now, or I can have it sent to your place.”

Enjolras looks back up, meets his father’s eyes. “Well, that depends on how heavy it is.”

Matthieu smiles rather sheepishly. “It’s very heavy.”

“Then I guess I’ll go with your latter suggestion.”

“Smart choice.”

Enjolras gets to his feet and goes to grab his coat, throwing his scarf around his neck once he’s carefully tucked the envelope and package away in his coat’s inside pockets. After putting on his boots, he gives his father a hug. “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Matthieu responds, a grateful look on his face as he watches his son step into the elevator. “I’ll have that photo album sent to you. See you next week, okay?”

Enjolras nods. “I’ll see you next week.”

The elevator door slides shut.

* * *

When he gets home, he finds Éponine sitting on the sofa with Ginger’s head and a bowl of popcorn in her lap, absently stroking the top of her little head and feeding her some popcorn every now and then with her eyes fixed on the television screen. A glass of wine, still mostly full, sits so close to the edge of the coffee table, Enjolras momentarily fears it might fall off and spill and stain their rug. He places the envelope and package he got from his father in the front pocket of his hoodie and walks over to the living room after hanging up his coat and scarf.

Standing by the sofa and narrowing his eyes curiously at the TV, he questions, “What are you watching?”

She shrugs and stuffs another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “ _Gossip Girl_.”

He lets out an incredulous laugh, quizzical. “Why are you watching _Gossip Girl_?”

“Well, why not? Okay, yeah, the ending was some of the shittiest writing in television history, but it was Blake Lively’s star-making role. It’s kind of addicting and I like to go back for more. Blair Cornelia Waldorf is an icon. And I do love me some occasional glimpses into ‘the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s elite’.” She rolls her eyes and snorts before looking up at him, an amused little smile on her face. “Blame Adrien for getting me hooked on it way back in junior year. I don’t know what it is with him and soapy CW shows.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, lips twitching as he suppresses a tiny smile, and sits down on the arm of the sofa, hands in his hoodie’s front pocket as he watches a little bit of it along with her. At some point, Éponine points at one of the characters, commenting, “Hey, that guy looks like you.”

He cocks his head, looking closer. “Huh. He does.” The resemblance is rather uncanny, he thinks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Except for the hair, obviously.” She leans all the way over to reach all the way up and playfully ruffle his blond curls, laughing when he scrunches up his face at her and lightly shoves her away. A toothy grin breaks out across her face, carves dimples into her cheeks. “Don’t worry, I think yours is much nicer-looking.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, bows his head, looking into his lap. His cheeks grow warm. “Thanks.”

As he takes the things his father gave him out of his pocket, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Éponine lean forward and grab her glass of wine, hears her offhandedly remark to herself as she brings the glass to her lips, “He looks way too young to be a congressman…”

Enjolras makes sure not to let the small package fall out of his lap as he turns the envelope over in his hands, seeing his name written on the front in his mother’s elegant handwriting for what feels like the millionth time since he received it a mere hour ago. He wonders what’s inside.

“What’s that?” He startles a little at the sound of Éponine’s voice, looking at her. Her gaze is fixed on the envelope, mild interest in her dark eyes. If she notices the tiny package wrapped in brown paper, she makes no mention of it.

He shrugs noncommittally. “Just something my father gave to me. It’s from my mother.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, and to his relief, she doesn’t press any further. After a while, he gets up.

“I think I’ll go to bed now,” he tells her quietly, biting his lip as his eyes find hers.

She fiddles with her locket as she just gazes at him for several moments, as if she’s trying to figure out what he’s thinking. She’s always been good at that. They’ve always been so good at reading each other’s minds. “Okay, then,” she says at last, her voice little more than a murmur, a soft smile on her face. “Good night, Gabriel.”

He smiles back at her, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. “Good night, Nina.”

When he gets to his bedroom, he locks the door behind him, with how Éponine has a habit of barging in without knocking and for once, he doesn’t want her to do so, since he has no idea what’s in the envelope and package and it could potentially be something private. Changing out of his khakis into plaid pyjama pants, he places the package on his nightstand as he paces the room, figuring that opening the envelope first would be a safe bet. Once he’s carefully pried open the seal, he takes out a folded sheet of paper and sits down at the edge of his bed.

He puts down the envelope beside him as he unfolds the paper, smiling to himself at how it’s one of those floral letter papers from those stationery sets that his mother loved so much. She’s written quite a lot in her minute cursive, having written on both sides of the paper. Taking a deep breath, he starts reading.

_Dear Gabriel,_

_I think I’ve put off writing this letter for long enough. I don’t have a lot of time left; you know it, I know it, your father knows it. And I’m okay with that. Really. I’ve long since made my peace with the fact that, to put it rather bluntly, I’m going to die soon. You’ll be receiving this letter after I’m gone, though; I hope that you and your father will have come to terms with and accepted my death by the time you’re reading this. I love you both so much. All I want is for you to be happy._

_There are so many things I want to say to you that I never got the chance to. I’m afraid I won’t have much, if any, time left by the time you come home, so I’m putting it all in this letter. I’m going to tell your father to give this to you when the time is right, and I don’t know when that time will be, so I don’t know when you’ll be reading this. But I trust his judgment. So I suppose, since you’re reading this, the right time is right now, regardless of whether it’s been a year, or ten years, or a life._

_I’m so proud of you, Gabriel. I don’t think I said that to you nearly enough over the course of your life. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, everything you’ve achieved—even if you did rather upset your father and me on quite a few occasions, like when you got detention for a week after punching a classmate in the face, or when you nearly got yourself arrested during that Model UN trip to Barcelona, or when you actually did get yourself arrested for beating up that police officer at a protest. I know that classmate was a “disgusting little Nazi who got what he deserved”—your words, not mine—and that police officer had called Éponine a truly heinous word, but you don’t always have to resort to violence, you know? I know you’re only doing what’s right, and I’m very proud of you for that, but certain methods have more consequences than others. You’ve said you want to be a lawyer, haven’t you? Learn to use your words, sweet pea._

_(Speaking of that past arrest, I still have those mugshots of you and Éponine. They’re probably in a photo album somewhere. I’m sure your father will find it eventually and have it sent to you. I get the feeling that Éponine will find it hilarious.)_

_I feel so lucky to have watched you grow up—from that little kid on the playground insecure about his big head way back then to the lovely young man fighting for a better world that you are now. As I’ve said, there have been times when you infuriated me to no end, but now I wouldn’t trade the bad experiences for anything. It’s all a part of raising a child—you’re there for them, through the good times and the bad. You’ll understand what I’m talking about someday, when you have children of your own. If you want children of your own, of course._

_But I’m getting ahead of myself._

_I’ve always wondered why you’ve never been in a relationship, a serious relationship, with anyone. There’s nothing wrong with remaining single, of course, and I know you never really feel that way about someone unless you have a strong emotional bond with them. But there’s nothing preventing you from getting out there and forging that strong emotional bond with someone, you know? Unless you already have your eye on somebody else._

_I remember for a couple of months back in kindergarten, between your birthday and Christmas, you were “in love”, as you put it, with Éponine. You were six years old, Gabriel. It was a childhood infatuation. You got over it soon enough, though, as every kid with a childhood infatuation does. But at some point, give or take twelve years later, I think those feelings resurfaced as something deeper, something more genuine. You started looking at Éponine differently around the time you two went to senior prom together. And since then, I don’t think you’ve ever really stopped._

_I know she’s been your best friend since kindergarten and there’s a lot at stake if you were to take the risk and tell her how you feel, but I’m sure that even if she doesn’t feel the same way, you two will find a way to get past it and move on. You’re best friends, great friends, never ever break friends. Or so the two of you told me and your father after school on your first day of kindergarten. You two can get through anything together._

_But I get the feeling that she_ does _feel the same way. Yes, I know she’s been in relationships with other people, whether they were brief or serious, but I’ve noticed how she always puts you before them, every single time. I know how important you two are to each other. You know, I always thought you would end up together someday. Or at least, I thought so when your father and I walked in on your fake wedding during that playdate you had with her, Cosette, Julien, and Adrien back in the first grade._

Enjolras nearly chokes on his own spit. Fake wedding? What the hell was his mother talking about?

_I remember how you got Celia to take pictures of it all. It was a whole event, from what I’ve seen. I found a photograph of it recently; I’ll enclose it in this letter so you can see for yourself._

Enjolras checks the envelope again, but it’s empty. Eyebrows creasing in bewilderment, he gets to his feet and keeps his eyes on the ground, soon locating the picture partially hidden underneath his dresser; how it got there, he has no idea. It must have fallen out of the envelope without him noticing when he took out the letter. Crouching down to pick it up, he gazes at the picture, breathless as the memories come rushing back to him.

There it is, photographic evidence that, for some reason, he and Éponine decided to stage a fake wedding when they were seven years old, with Cosette serving as her maid of honour, Combeferre acting as his best man, and Courfeyrac officiating. In the photo, they’re standing at the makeshift altar, him in one of his father’s old suit jackets, her in two white bed sheets. He remembers now. He remembers their vows, which consisted of promises to always share their juice boxes and not hog the swings during recess, and how she leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips to seal their “marriage”. He stumbles back onto his bed upon remembering that, technically, Éponine had been his first kiss.

Huh. They’d been each other’s first kisses. And yet somehow they both completely forgot about it.

He needs to lie down.

As he falls back onto the sheets, he lifts the letter up to read the rest of it, wondering what else his mother could possibly have had to say.

_When you two were little, she always liked to ask to look at the engagement ring your father got me a million years ago, and I always showed her up close. I’m leaving the ring to you. It will need quite a lot of taking care of, since opal isn’t nearly as hardy as diamond or sapphire, but it will be worth it, I promise. My hands and Éponine’s are the same size. It may have been too big on her the one time I let her try it on for five seconds when you were nine, but I’m sure it will fit her perfectly now._

Enjolras stares at the words on the paper, narrowing his eyes. He blinks repeatedly, trying to see if this is all just a dream. The words are still there.

_But again, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just recklessly assuming that you and Éponine will end up in a relationship. For all I know, by the time you’re reading this, you two will have already gotten married and you won’t have had the chance to propose to her with my engagement ring. But I don’t think that will be the case. No offense._

Enjolras snorts. Did his mother really have so little faith in his love life? Granted, he still doesn’t have much of one to this day, but _still_. “None taken,” he murmurs aloud.

_That’s assuming you and Éponine will get together at all, of course. But even if you don’t, I’d still like you to have the ring. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll pass it down to your own child._

Alright. At least his mother was still somewhat right in the head when she wrote this. Because _really_. If he and Éponine are supposedly meant to be, as everyone around them just _loves_ to think, they probably would have gotten together a long, _long_ time ago.

_I love you, Gabriel. You are the best thing that has ever happened to your father and me. We love you so, so much. The people around you are so lucky to have you in their lives. Keep trying to change the world, okay, sweet pea?_

_Love, Mom._

Enjolras stares at the words, barely registering anything. Here it is, closure from his mother at last in the form of this letter, and he isn’t even really able to process any of it as he lies there, unable to think. He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he sits back up and swings his legs up onto the bed, scooting over to the nightstand to grab the brown package and unwrap it. As he carefully undoes the brown paper packaging, he leans back against his headboard, finding the small, burgundy velvet ring box inside. He opens the box, hands not quite as steady as he’d like them to be, and there it is: his mother’s engagement ring, still in pristine condition after more than three decades.

There’s a little sticky note folded up and tucked into the box along with the ring, and he takes that out first, unfolding it to find detailed instructions on how to take care of the ring to keep it in good condition. He folds that back up and tucks it away in the drawer of his nightstand for safekeeping before he takes out the ring, looking at it closely. It’s damn near perfect, everything still shining and intact, the rose-gold band paved with tiny sparkling diamonds, complementing the iridescent oval opal. It barely fits on his pinky, only making it about a third of the way down, but he has no doubt that it’ll fit Éponine’s ring finger.

He stares at the ring for several moments too long before putting it back and snapping the box shut, stowing it away deep in his drawer along with his mother’s letter. He lies back in bed, absent-mindedly counting the cracks in the stucco ceiling. It doesn’t take long for it to become tedious, so he grabs his phone to mindlessly scroll through social media until his eyes burn.

At some point, he finds his way onto Éponine’s Instagram page, looking at the hundreds of posts she’s made over the course of the past several years. He shows up in approximately half of them, maybe a little more than that, be they throwbacks or recent pictures. Clicking on the post she made for Halloween almost exactly a year ago, when they went as a brunette Sandy and a blond, curly-haired Danny, he rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath at the caption.

**eponine.t: happy halloween, i’m never wearing pants this fucking tight again 🖤 (swipe for a surprise)**

He wonders how they’ll ever top their costumes from last year. He still wonders how exactly she got away with sneaking into the costume vault after closing night of their senior-year production of _Grease_ and stealing his Danny costume, leather T-Birds jacket and all. Much to his surprise, it still fit over eight years later. (He can still remember the show and everything leading up to it. Éponine laughed her ass off for what felt like ten minutes straight when the cast list came out and his name was listed at the very top next to “Danny Zuko”, considering it to be the funniest thing in her life thus far. Honestly, it was all her fault to begin with. She’d been the one to talk him into auditioning for Danny in the first place. Something about it being the last show they’d ever get to participate in before graduating, and he couldn’t very well break his tradition of playing the male leads in the school musicals right before they left high school, could he?)

He swipes and sighs at a little snippet of a shaky video Courfeyrac took of them singing “You’re the One That I Want” at Jehan’s Halloween party during the several rounds of karaoke Grantaire insisted on. How the hell did he get so drunk, everyone else managed to successfully talk him into that?

(As hammered off his ass as he may have been, every detail about that night is etched into his mind. Éponine dancing and laughing and hamming it up. Her black clothes hugging her curves, her massive curls still intact hours into the night to the point where he wondered how many cans of hairspray she used up. How by the end of the number, only then did they realise how close together they were standing, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths before he had the sense to take a step back. He almost kissed her then and there. The one thing he doesn’t remember is what stopped him.)

He turns off his phone and puts it back down on his nightstand, burying his face in his pillow and groaning. Jesus, he’s never getting over her, is he? Especially not now, not when his mother’s passed her engagement ring down to him, heavily implying that he should propose to Éponine with it. He’s twenty-seven and he’s got his life together for the most part.

Except for when it comes to this.

Rolling over in bed, he considers taking his father up on his offer to set him up with someone before he catches a glimpse of the photograph on the nightstand out of the corner of his eye. Moving a little closer to get a better look, he bites his lips at the rather hazy memories of Cosette and Marius’ wedding that return at the sight of the framed picture of him and Éponine laughing and dancing the night away at the reception, dressed in purple, no cares in the world. He remembers Cosette sending it to him when the wedding photos came in, one photographer in particular seeming to have fixated on him and Éponine for a little while there.

Fleetingly, he wonders what it might be like to dance with her at their own wedding one day. He screws his eyes shut and refuses to dwell on it any further.

He falls asleep not long after, drifting into a deep slumber riddled with dreams of laughing brown eyes and a bright, dimpled smile.


	23. a game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up on the roof one summer evening, they watch the sunset and play twenty questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we've officially hit the 100k mark with this one!! bit of a lengthy chapter ahead, but i promise it will be worth it. ;)

* * *

One summer evening, they find themselves on the roof of their apartment, watching the sunset and playing a game of twenty questions.

Dinner consisted of a box of pizza split evenly between the two of them two hours ago, after which they decided to watch _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_. Halfway through the movie, Ginger fell asleep; not long after Éponine put her in her room once the movie ended, she suggested going up to the roof to watch the sunset, so here they are now, legs dangling over the edge, gazing up at the clouds drifting past in the light pink sky and listening to the cars honking and pedestrians shouting on the streets below as they think up questions to ask each other. He still has a few left before it’s her turn.

“Alright, how would you describe yourself in three words?” Enjolras asks after consulting his phone once again. He never said he was any good at this.

Éponine throws her head back and laughs. “Needy, annoying, bi, ethnically ambiguous. Yes, I’m aware that is two words too many, but when have I ever played by the rules?”

He laughs rather incredulously and furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’re needy or annoying.”

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t. You’re biased as fuck.” She plants her palms behind her and leans back, looking over at him with a little smile on her face. “How would _you_ describe me in three words, then?”

He laughs, quizzical. “I thought this was my turn. I still have three questions left.” When she makes a big show of rolling her eyes and pouting, he relents, saying, “But to answer yours, I’d say you’re beautiful, smart, and independent. Not necessarily in that order.” After a pause, he adds, “That’s not to say one outweighs the others, obviously. You’re as beautiful as you are smart. And independent.”

A small laugh escapes her. “Good to know at least one of us here thinks highly of me.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, rather flustered all of a sudden. She ignores the way her cheeks warm up. “Next?”

His lips form something of a smirk. “What word starts with ‘F’ and ends with ‘U-C-K’?”

“Firetruck.” She cackles at the look on his face, unable to help it. “Thought you had me there, didn’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath. “Fine, then.” He asks the next question that comes to mind. “What did you think of _Moulin Rouge!_ on Broadway?” They went back in April for her birthday, the tickets to the cabaret seats directly in front of the stage having been a birthday gift from him.

“Fun! Got a little too tipsy on the themed cocktails. It was a struggle not to stand up and sing along.” She laughs. “I very much enjoyed getting spit on by the actors.”

Lips curving into a questioning smile, he says, “I genuinely cannot tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Just a little bit.” She laughs again, rolling her eyes a bit. “Also, the guy who played Christian looked and sounded a lot like you. Like, a _lot_. It was almost scary.” After a moment, she adds, “He was way prettier than you, though. No offence. I think I want to marry him. I’m going to go back to the Al Hirschfeld right now and ask him to marry me.”

He shoves her away with a roll of his eyes as she lets out a great big cackle. “You’re so full of shit. I know you don’t believe that for a second. You kept talking about how ‘his hair is nice, but it could be _so_ much nicer, you know?’” Letting out a low chuckle, he shakes his head before racking his mind for another question, looking up at the sky as if the pink hues will give him an answer. At last, he asks, “Are you in love?”

Her breath catches in her throat as she gazes at him, unsure of what to say. She remembers what Grantaire said last year, about how her feelings for Enjolras are so painfully obvious to everyone except Enjolras himself. She’s twenty-seven years old. While that’s far from old-maid age, if such a thing even exists, she’s wasted too much time. Might as well make the first move, however subtle it may be.

“You mean, like, right now?” He nods. “Then yes,” she replies, candid as can be. A corner of her mouth upturns in the barest hint of a half-smile.

She swallows a laugh when his blue eyes widen ever so slightly. He coughs, asking, “Really? With whom?”

“Um, no, nuh-uh.” She scrunches up her face at him, flashing him a teasing grin. “You’ve asked all of your twenty questions, you don’t get another one.”

At the pained look on his face (she can’t decide if it’s legitimate or not. There’s a reason he got cast as the male lead in the school musicals every year back in high school. Well, except for the production of _Next to Normal_ that their school put on as their winter musical in their junior year, in which he played Gabe. She found it kind of hilarious, seeing the name “Gabriel Enjolras” listed next to “Gabriel Goodman” in the playbill. Wait, where is she going with this?), she rolls her eyes and lets out a wry laugh. “Fine. I’ll give you a hint. They’re tall and very passionate about a multitude of causes having to do with social justice, and it’s sexy as fuck.” She doesn’t allow him time to process that, immediately saying afterwards, “My turn now! Question one: should I dye my hair?”

He laughs incredulously, eyebrows furrowing. Honestly, he didn’t expect anything less. “What?”

“Like, get highlights or something.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger absently. “Blonde highlights, maybe.”

“No!” His voice comes out a little more frantic than he would have liked, and she gives him a weird look, lips twitching in her attempt to stifle an amused smile. “No, it would make you look washed out.” He reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek before he quickly pulls it back. “Your natural colour is gorgeous,” he tells her softly, resting his arm on his kneecap.

She gazes at him for several moments, the look in her eyes indiscernible, and then she breathes out a little laugh. “Thanks,” she murmurs, recalling his comment about how she should learn to take compliments. “And yeah, you’re right, about the washed-out thing, now that you mention it. Anyway, question two: what would you do if you were president?”

“Oh, this one’s easy.” He stares out over the Village rooftops, rattling off, “Universal healthcare, set a living wage as the minimum wage, give better funding to public schools, paid parental leave, tax the rich, prison and police abolition… I could go on.” He looks back over at her, cracking a little smile. “But you’d probably get sick of it a quarter of the way through and push me off this building.”

Her mouth falls open in mock outrage, her hand pressed against her heart. “I’m not _that_ mean. And for the record, I’m into your political tangents most of the time. This just isn’t one of those times. On to question three! Who do you feel like you can be yourself with?”

“You.” His blue eyes have gone soft. She thinks her heart skips a beat. “Clearly. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

Her head falls back and a groan escapes her throat. “God, please tell me you did not just seriously quote yeehaw Taylor at me.”

He rolls his eyes and swats at her arm. “Next question, please.”

“What’s one thing that makes you smile no matter what?”

“Again, you.”

She senses heat rising to her cheeks, hoping the sunset glow masks it. “Damn, you really know how to make someone blush,” she mutters, averting her gaze, hating how flustered she is. He chuckles and places his hand on top of hers. “Okay, then. Have you ever had your heart broken?”

He gazes at her, debating his answer. He’s not sure how to respond to that. At last, he says, “Not yet.”

She furrows her eyebrows at him, narrowing her eyes questioningly. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

“That counts as a question,” he tells her, unable to bite back a smile at the sour look she shoots his way. “And by ‘not yet’, I mean that I haven’t actually given this person the chance to break my heart yet.”

“Right.” She still has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. Recalling one of his questions from earlier, she decides to ask him the same thing. “Are _you_ in love?”

She watches him bite his lip, sees the hesitation in his blue eyes. Several moments pass before he finally answers. “Yes.”

Well, this is getting interesting, if the way he seems to be avoiding eye contact is any indication. “Okay, then. Is the person you’re in love with a he, she, or they? Hell, who am I to assume, maybe whoever it is goes by an entirely different set of pronouns.”

He laughs, somewhat overwhelmed, and looks down into his lap. Here it is, his chance to finally come clean after all these years. Should he take it? Looking back up to meet her expectant brown eyes, his breath catches in his throat.

Fuck it.

“She,” he replies at last.

Her lips form a tiny smile, rather sly. She wonders who the hell it might be. She wonders why he hasn’t told her yet. They tell each other everything. “Are you close to her?” she questions.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a soft, fond laugh. Her heart skips another beat. “Very.”

She scoots a fraction of an inch closer to him, the movement barely noticeable. Leaning in so slightly, it’s almost inconspicuous, her smile grows the tiniest bit wider as she asks, “How long have you known her for?”

A breathless laugh falls from his lips. “I feel like I’ve known her my entire life.”

“Okay.” Cocking her head to the side, keeping her gaze firmly on his face, she goes on, “What colour are her eyes?”

“Brown.” She thinks she sees spots of pink blooming in his cheeks, but she could very well be mistaken. “A very lovely dark brown.”

Her eyes trail to his hand, still placed over hers. His hand covers hers almost completely. “What colour is her hair?”

“Just like her eyes,” he says, somehow still going on without stumbling over his words. “Rich, dark brown. Chestnut brown, I’d say. The most stunning shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

Is it just her, or has it gotten rather hot out here? “How tall is she?” she asks, her teasing smile on the verge of breaking out into a full-on grin.

“About five foot six. Neither here nor there, really, as long as she isn’t wearing high heels.” He smiles at her, and for the first time in all the twenty-two years they’ve known each other, he actually looks shy. Something in her stomach flutters.

“How many questions do I have left?” she murmurs, unable to think of anything else to say.

“After that one? Six,” he tells her, letting out a small laugh. When she wrinkles her nose and makes a face, pretending to glower at him, he shrugs and says, “Hey, that one counted, too.”

“ _Fine_.” She draws the word out for quite a few seconds too long, mimicking how Courfeyrac would say it whenever he’s being particularly whiny. “Next question. Does she have any pets?”

“Yes, a very cute dog,” he answers, stifling a slight laugh at the memory of the time Ginger chewed up one of a pair of his favourite shoes before he had the sense to start keeping his shoes in a place she can’t reach.

She laughs, moving another half an inch closer. “How often do you see her?”

He smiles easily. “Every day.” She stops breathing for a split second when he inches closer to her as well.

God, is this really happening? All signs point to yes. But she isn’t getting her hopes up just yet. “What do you admire most about her?”

“Oh, this one’s hard.” He looks back up at the sky, watching the colours constantly shift from pink to purple to blue as he contemplates his answer. She watches him intently as he does, catching herself holding her breath in anticipation of his answer, toying with her locket.

“I think I would say her batshit crazy determination whenever she sets her mind to something,” he says at last, a corner of his mouth turning upwards.

She barks out a laugh. “Okay, weirdo.” Her breath hitches when he looks back at her, a soft smile on his face, blue eyes seeming to sparkle in the afterglow. She moves even closer to him, leaving a few inches of space between them. “Does she know you’re in love with her?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” The look in his eyes turns rather wistful. He smiles diffidently. “But I’m hoping that will change soon.”

Her heart pounds so wildly, it’s a wonder he can’t hear. Leaning in, purposefully, deliberately, until there’s hardly any space left between them, she practically breathes out her next question, a smile playing at her lips. “Who is it, Gabriel?”

The sounds of the streets fade to white noise as she awaits his answer, her eyes fixed on his. He looks down into his lap momentarily and bites his lip, a soft, barely audible laugh escaping him before he looks back up and meets her gaze. His blue eyes have gone soft, lips curved into an affectionate little smile. Nobody has ever looked at her like that before. She kind of hates how it takes her breath away.

“It’s you, Nina,” he whispers.

She thinks she stops breathing for a solid minute or two.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her as she sits there, at a momentary loss for words while she takes the time to truly process his confession, so simple, so heartfelt. “Okay,” she murmurs, unable to keep the smile off her face no matter how hard she tries. She licks her lips, finding them rather dry, and finally manages to get her last question out, tucking her hair behind both ears. “Last one, then. If, hypothetically, I were to kiss you right now, how would you hypothetically respond?”

“Hypothetically speaking?” He laughs softly, shrugging. “I would probably—no, I would definitely kiss you back. Hypothetically, of course,” he makes a point of stressing, a twinkle in his eye.

She giggles, leaning in closer until her face is mere inches from his, a playful smile on her face. “Obviously.”

He doesn’t draw back even when her lips are a breath away from his, and she watches as his eyes slowly close, golden lashes fluttering. He’s right there. She can feel his shallow breaths against her lips. She wonders if he can hear her heart pounding out of her chest as she tips forward and closes the gap between them, her lips finally meeting his. The entire world comes to a complete screeching halt.

All she can focus on is how soft and warm his lips feel against hers, the flutter in her stomach only intensifying when he kisses her back almost immediately, just like he said he would. He chuckles softly against her lips, but she can barely hear it, hardly able to hear anything over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. He tastes like the pepperoni pizza they’d eaten earlier for dinner and it’s all she can do not to grin like an idiot.

In her entire life, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt anything so _right_. Warmth fills up her insides, spreading through her body, taking her breath away. It feels like the countless times she tackled him in a hug at the airport whenever he returned from California to visit during their college years. It feels like sitting out on their fire escape and eating the snickerdoodles they’ve baked together while sharing a bottle of wine. It feels like their childhood sleepovers when they would lie side by side in a tent covered with fairy lights and share a pair of earbuds to listen to old-school Taylor Swift.

It feels like coming home.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days seem to pass before she finally breaks the kiss and pulls back a few inches, her eyes slowly fluttering open to find him gazing at her, holding his breath. “So I take it I’m the one you gave a hint about earlier when I asked you whom you were in love with?” he murmurs, a smile on his face.

She throws her head back and laughs out loud, unable to help it. She honestly cannot believe him sometimes. “Jesus _Christ_ , how dense can you fucking get?” she pretends to scoff, but she’s grinning. “ _Yes_ , I was talking about you, you fucking moron. My God. I was so _obvious_ about it.”

He laughs and reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear; his hand lingers there, his thumb brushing over her cheek. His heart skips a beat when she leans into his touch. He can’t help but tease, “You’re in love with me.”

“Yes, I am.” She giggles softly, rather shy all of a sudden. “And you’re in love with me.”

He grins and cups her jaw, leaning in to kiss her again, and she doesn’t hesitate, kissing him back and giggling against his lips. He bites back a smile, his other hand moving upwards so he’ll be cupping her face in both hands. Her arms slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, one hand moving into his hair, fingers threading through his golden curls; he moves his hands downwards to wind his arms around her waist, holding her close, and she immediately melts into his embrace. His head is spinning, his heart is pounding, and he never, ever wants to let her go.

A low gasp sounds from the back of his throat when her teeth dig into his bottom lip moments before she swipes her tongue across it, the way she runs her fingers through his hair damn near making him lose his mind. His whole body tingles as he deepens the kiss without question, hungry, intense, finding himself longing for more, years and years and _years_ of pining away in secret all culminating in a single fierce, passionate kiss, their bodies intertwined. Warmth spreads through him at the feel of her slender frame pressed flush against his chest. She’s absolutely mesmerising.

Neither of them know how long it’s been by the time they finally break apart from each other again to take a breath, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She brings her hand to sweep some hair out of his eyes and smiles at him, breathless. “So how long have you been in love with me, if I may ask?” she playfully questions.

He furrows his eyebrows, lips forming something of a teasing smile. “You’ve already asked all twenty of your questions. You don’t get another one.”

She pouts at him, narrowing her eyes as her arms drop from around his neck. “Hey, _you_ asked one more question than you were allowed and I answered it, didn’t I?”

“Hardly.” He laughs at the grumpy look she gives him and softens, not needing much time to think about his answer at all. “I’ve always loved you, Nina. I think I’ve loved you all my life.”

“Hm.” She hums, not entirely satisfied with his answer. She knows that already. She loves him and he loves her and they’ve spent almost their entire lives telling each other that. “Okay, then, when did you realise you were in love with me?”

“The morning after we didn’t go to junior prom, when I found you in my bathroom puking your guts out,” he deadpans.

She rolls her eyes and smacks his arm. “Honest answers only, please!”

“Are you sure you want the honest answer?”

“Fuck it, give it to me.”

He seems to realise the accidental double entendre in her words at the same time she does, and they share a look before bursting out laughing. He shakes his head, a fleeting thought of how Courfeyrac would refer to it as them sharing a brain cell crossing his mind, and takes a deep breath before murmuring, “I’m not sure when exactly I fell in love with you, but I realised it while we were slow dancing at our senior prom.”

The laughter in her eyes quickly makes way for incredulity, and she stares at him for so long, he starts to worry that he did something wrong. “Wait,” she says, sounding as if she needs time to register this, almost upset, just a little bit. “Are you saying you’ve been in love with me since we were _eighteen_?”

His cheeks grow hot. “Yes.”

She laughs, amazed. “So you mean to tell me we could have been spending all these past years doing _this_?”

Whatever he might have said in response to that is abruptly cut off by her grabbing his face and pulling him in for another fierce kiss, this one even more uninhibited than the last, passionate and unrestrained. He kisses her back, his slight confusion pushed out by desire as she holds his face in her hands, kissing him hard, passionately, fervidly. Several moments pass before she breaks away from him and wastes no time in standing up and pulling him to his feet, his hand locked in her iron grip as she drags him back towards the stairs.

He thinks he gets a slight head rush as she leads him back down the stairs, impatient as always, occasionally stopping in the middle of the stairwell to press her lips to his, the steps allowing her to stand at eye level to him. He doesn’t question her, not once, kissing her back equally forcefully as they gradually find their way back to their apartment door. Taking the keys out of his pocket, he fumbles with the lock for a few seconds before he finally manages to get the door open. Instantly, she pulls him inside, dragging him down into another fiery kiss just as he kicks the door shut behind themselves.

She jumps up and hooks her legs around his waist once they’ve kicked off their shoes, his brain short-circuiting when she lets out a soft moan of his name, her tongue slipping between his lips. Once she’s jumped back down, they stumble down the foyer, nearly tripping over furniture as they find their way to their bedrooms, lips hardly ever parting. Only when she backs up against the wall and pulls him flush against her does he break away to breathlessly ask, “Your room or mine?”

“Yours,” she replies, like the answer should already be obvious, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “You have the bigger bed. Also, I don’t want to disturb Ginger. I don’t think voyeurism is her idea of a good time.”

He laughs out loud, so utterly endeared. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

She grins and pulls him back down to slam her mouth against his, and he groans as he kisses her back, blindly reaching behind himself to turn the doorknob to his bedroom and push it open. Jumping down from him, she pulls him towards the bed, the pair of them stumbling across the room until they’ve fallen back onto the mattress, him on top of her, kissing fervently. She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to make him hiss as she tugs his bottom lip between her teeth and grins.

Feeling her tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, he draws back to let her pull it up over his head and throw it to the side, his breath hitching when her eyes land on his chest. Goosebumps erupt along his skin when she brushes her hand over his abs, silently admiring them, her eyes following the faint trail of blond hairs below his navel before her gaze slowly drags upwards until her eyes meet his. She smiles, shyly biting her lip. “This is okay, right?”

“Yes, Nina,” he murmurs with a small nod. “More than okay.”

“Okay.” Her smile broadens and she pulls him back into another kiss, moaning against his lips when he reaches to tug her shorts down. She kicks them off the bed and one of her hands toys with the waistband of his sweatpants, silently asking for permission. Getting the hint, he pulls them off himself, tossing them off the bed and wasting no time in kissing her again. A gasp escapes her upon feeling his bulge rubbing up against her through his boxer briefs, heat gathering between her thighs at the sensation.

Breaking away from him momentarily, she pulls her shirt up over her head and sharply inhales when his eyes trail downwards to her breasts, too stunned to say anything. She bites her lip. “I know this isn’t the sexiest underwear ever,” she says quietly, suddenly self-conscious about the pale green cotton bra and matching boy shorts that she has on, which she often wears around the apartment because no way is she wearing scratchy lace at home when she has so much more comfortable alternatives. But had she known this would happen, she would have put on something sexier. She has a feeling he’d go wild over one of her lacy burgundy ensembles.

He chuckles affectionately, brushing her hair out of her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Nina, you could be wearing a garbage bag and you’d still look sexy to me.”

At that, she laughs out loud, immediately put at ease as she pulls him back into a kiss, sighing against his mouth and carding her fingers through his curls. She shivers and can’t quite hold back a shaky moan at the feeling of his large hand trailing up her thigh, along her hip, resting on her waist, and she momentarily stops to give him a playful smile and murmur, “Who said you get to be on top?”

It’s almost funny how quickly he flips them over so she’ll be on top of him, straddling him, and the action evokes a tiny shriek from her at the sheer unexpectedness of it. She stares at him, unable to think straight, and starts laughing. He smiles up at her, adoring, and closes his eyes as she leans down to kiss him again. A soft gasp of surprise escapes her at the feeling of _something_ hardening against her thigh, cheeks flaming at the mere thought that she actually has that sort of effect on him. She gently grabs his wrists, guiding his hands to her back to unclasp her bra. He fumbles a little with the hooks, and she squeaks in slight pain when a lock of her hair gets caught on it.

“Ow, fuck—Gabe—my hair—” She draws back to try and tug her hair free, pressing her lips together in a tight line.

“I’m sorry!” He sticks his tongue out slightly in concentration as he focuses on disentangling her hair from her bra hooks, and she laughs at the absurdity of it all. Finally, he manages to untangle her hair with minimal damage and tosses the bra aside as she straightens back up, the shyness of her small smile sharply contrasting against the boldness of her bare breasts. She bites her lip, drawing a sharp breath. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this nervous before when it comes to this sort of thing, not even during her first time back in junior year of high school, when she and Grantaire snuck out one Friday night to attend a college party neither of them were invited to and she got a little too drunk off wine coolers and next thing she knew she was in the backseat of a vintage Volvo getting head from a girl with tattoo sleeves and an undercut.

Her confidence grows somewhat at the way his blue eyes widen and he swallows, a faint blush on his cheeks as he gazes at her in awe. She musters a grin. “Like the view?” When he nods wordlessly, she giggles, her coy grin broadening. “Yeah, I know. I have a rockin’ rack.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, biting his lip to keep his smile from growing too wide as he trails a hand up her hip, not missing how she shivers. After several long moments of silence, she comments, “You know, right now, you look like a thirteen-year-old boy who’s seeing boobs for the first time.”

Rather indignant, he scoffs and laughs, swatting at her arm as he retorts, “Well, leave it to you to kill the mood.”

She throws her head back and cackles before leaning back down, pressing her lips to his in an ardent kiss.

* * *

Éponine struggles to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, as Enjolras chucks that last condom in the general direction of the bin by his dresser and promptly collapses beside her on the bed, panting. For several moments there, neither of them can move, breathing erratically and staring at the ceiling, utterly exhausted. Using up whatever’s left of her energy, she turns her head and looks at him, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards in a little smile of somewhat bewildered amazement. “Wow,” she breathes out.

“Yeah.” He laughs breathlessly. “Wow.”

Another several moments pass before she finally regains the ability to move and snuggles up to him, resting her head on his bare chest as he wraps his muscular arms around her, burying his face in her hair and kissing the top of her head. They’re both sticky with sweat as she absent-mindedly traces his abs and giggles, looking up at him through tender brown eyes.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” she asks softly.

He lets out a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes slightly. “You’re not the only one of us who’s had sex before, _Nina_.”

She rolls her eyes right back at him and gives him a _look_ , lips twitching as she suppresses a smile. “Shut up, you did not learn how to eat pussy like that from one-night stands, _Gabe_.”

Once again, he rolls his eyes, fond, exasperated. “You’re vulgar. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m just being _honest_. Jesus, Gabe. You’re such a goddamn prude.”

“How is me having sex with you not even an _hour_ after we admitted our feelings to each other _prudish_ , exactly? If anything, I’d say it’s the exact opposite. It is _literally_ the exact opposite.”

Sighing as if he’s _completely_ missing the point, she elbows him with a snort. “Ugh, you know what I mean. Way to take the fun out of it.” She pauses then, momentarily lost in thought. “Seriously, where did you learn how to eat someone out like that? You’re even better than R. And that’s saying something, because the fucker is weirdly good at it. Like, _wow_. And here I thought all he does is smoke weed and play video games with Jehan.” Another contemplative pause. Then, “Well, he’s got Toby and his art and his guitar going on, but you know what I mean.”

He purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing rather incredulously. “You’ve had sex with R?”

“What, like you haven’t?”

“First of all, that was _one time_ and we were _drunk_ , and also, you _promised_ you’d never bring it up again. _God._ ”

She laughs out loud before her breath hitches when one of his hands drifts down and starts tracing lazy circles on her inner thigh, letting out a surprised squeak. He can’t help but feel rather smug at how quickly that shuts her up, a corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight smirk. “Anyway, to answer your original question,” he says, his voice so soft, it borders on inaudible, “I suppose I’m just a quick learner.”

“Mm. That, you are.” She drops a kiss to his collarbone, feeling his breathing slowly even out under her. She can’t remember the last time she was so thoroughly satisfied like this, left breathless and trembling to the point of being unable to move from her spot for a _while_ by the end of it all, an ache between her legs. Fingers ghosting over the numerous dark red marks she’s left along his throat and collarbone, she grins a little. “You’ve got such a sensitive neck.”

He breathes out a soft laugh and wrinkles his nose, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Hence my general aversion to tight scarves and high-necked clothing.”

She giggles, laying her head on his chest and whispering, “I love you.”

He kisses the top of her head again, affectionate. She can hear the smile in his voice as he murmurs in reply, “I love you, too.”

For a while, they say nothing else and just cuddle, simply basking in the afterglow as she lies in his arms. She listens to his heartbeat, feeling her own sync up with his. Eventually, she sits up, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be right back,” she tells him with a soft smile.

He watches her dart out of the room, stark naked and walking rather funny, and laughs under his breath, wondering if it was really only six hours ago that he finally came clean about his feelings for her and found out that she feels the same before they ended up in bed together not even fifteen minutes later. God, Courfeyrac’s going to have a field day when he finds out. If he ever even finds out. Enjolras still hasn’t decided whether or not he should tell him right away. He doesn’t think he’d be able to take the endless stream of “I told you so”s.

Éponine returns five minutes later, crawling back under the covers to join him and wrapping herself up in his arms again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses his lips into her hair, asking, “What were you doing out there?”

“Just went to use the bathroom,” she replies, looking up to meet his eyes and grinning. “And a couple other things. By the way, none of the condoms made it into the trash, in case you were wondering.” She laughs. “You know, I never pegged you as the type to use glow-in-the-dark condoms. It was kind of hilarious.”

He makes a face, his face heating up. “Shut up,” he mutters, only to receive a full-on cackle in response. “Adrien got them for me as a joke some time ago. It seemed like it would be a shame to let them go to waste.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” Her grin broadens even more, far more amused than she probably should be. “Also, it’s a wonder Ginger hasn’t woken up.” Leaning up to kiss his jaw, she remarks rather brazenly, “I wouldn’t be too surprised if some of our neighbours are filing noise complaints later this morning.”

His cheeks flush. He’s glad that the only light currently on in his bedroom is the light of the floor lamp in a corner by the window, the dim yellow glow hiding his reddened cheeks. “It’s not my fault you’re so loud.”

“Um, actually, it kind of is.” She laughs under her breath as she settles her head on his chest again, throwing her arm over his torso. “I’m not usually that noisy.”

His cheeks flush at the implications in her words, his quiet laugh cut off by her leaning up to press her lips to his, kissing him tenderly. He kisses her back, feeling her soft hand against his cheek, her lips slightly chapped but warm against his. His breathing goes shallow when she slides her leg between his, pressing against him, and before he can stop himself, he asks, “So what about you?”

She pulls back and gives him a questioning look, eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

“When did you realise you were in love with me?” he clarifies, echoing her question from hours ago. A blush rises to his cheeks as he catches himself holding his breath in anticipation of her answer.

A brief silence falls over the room as she searches for the right words, contemplative. “When I got home from California at the end of fall break during our junior year of college,” she replies at last, meeting his gaze. “After I visited you for your twenty-first birthday. R was driving me home, and I was just thinking about you and missing you a lot and listening to one of the Spotify playlists you made for me, and then it just hit me.”

He stares at her, mystified. “And it took you almost seven years to make a move?”

“I didn’t think you returned my feelings,” she says rather defensively, making a face at him. “You pushed me away when I tried to kiss you the day after your birthday.”

“Because you were _crossfaded_. I didn’t want you doing anything you might have regretted the next day.”

“Well, you could’ve told me that! Would’ve saved us a fuckton of time.”

He laughs, in a bit of a daze. “So you’ve been in love with me all these years, then?”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip, something almost bashful in the way she smiles. “I love you, and I’m in love with you.”

“I love you and I’m in love with you,” he echoes, his smile so wide, he feels like his face might break. Is it normal for a twenty-seven-year-old man to feel this giddy?

They fall quiet for a good long while there, and then she starts to laugh, unable to contain her giggles, which sets him off as well. “God, what the _fuck_ took us so long?” she wonders aloud after a moment, letting out a snort.

“I don’t know,” he says in between laughter. “Better late than never, right?”

“Right,” she affirms, grinning and leaning in to kiss him again, her lips capturing his. He smiles and kisses her back, the rest of the world seeming to fall away as his lips move against hers, her soft sigh nearly inaudible. For several blissful moments, they just lie there, kissing lazily, until she draws back for breath, murmuring, “So I guess Montparnasse was actually right about something for once in his life—probably the only time in his life—when he said you were in love with me. Who would’ve thought?”

He groans and pulls a face. “ _No_ , why did you have to bring him up?”

She laughs out loud and kisses him again, unable to get enough of him. “The fucker was incapable of finding the clit. So that’s one of the many, _many_ advantages you have over him.” She grins wryly. “He used to send a lot of unsolicited dick pics too. Which, why? I’ve seen penises so much more impressive than his. Like yours, for example.” She flashes him a toothy grin. “Yes, I know I saw it years after I broke up with him, but it counts. Hell, _R’s_ was more impressive than Montparnasse’s. Actually, it’s not very hard to have a dick more impressive than Montparnasse’s. Although R’s was definitely nothing to sneeze at.”

“Oh, my God, _stop_.” Enjolras pulls a face, torn between utter horror and amusement. “And I thought we were going to stop bringing up R?”

“I said I’d stop bringing up the time _you_ slept with him. Everything else is fair game.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Éponine throws her head back and practically cackles. “Thank you, I try. But that’s beside the point.” She rests her chin on his sternum, the corners of her mouth upturned in a little smile, carving dimples into her cheeks. “Everyone kept telling me you were in love with me, and I never believed them.”

“Really? That’s what everyone kept telling _me_ about _you_.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I never believed them, either.”

“I guess we’re the last people to know.” She laughs incredulously and rolls her eyes, an amused smile playing at her lips as she lays her head back down on his chest. “R was right. We’re oblivious fucking idiots.”

“I suppose we are.” He kisses the top of her head, another quiet laugh falling from his lips.

She falls silent, deep in thought. It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he takes her hand, giving it a squeeze. “What’s on your mind?”

“Katara should have ended up with Zuko instead of Aang,” she replies without missing a beat, looking back up to meet his eyes. “Also, your nose is, like, perfect. It’s so nicely shaped.”

He rolls his eyes, chuckling under his breath. “You’re so weird.”

“Are you saying you disagree with me about how Katara should’ve ended up with Zuko instead of Aang? Because that’s going to be a dealbreaker for me, babe. I’m not joking.”

“Of course not. All I’m saying is that I was actually being serious. What are you thinking?”

She goes quiet again, contemplative. “What made you realise you were in love with me?” she asks at last, looking up to meet his gaze again. “You told me that you realised it at senior prom, but what made you realise it in the first place?”

“Well…” He considers his words, biting his lip. “I guess I just started thinking about how we ended up there. We grew up together. I literally can’t remember a time when you weren’t in my life, and I couldn’t imagine a future without you in it. The thought of us meeting other people and committing to them… it hurt. I couldn’t even picture it.”

He averts his eyes momentarily and laughs to himself under his breath, shaking his head before meeting her eyes again. “I realised I wouldn’t be able to bear it if we started living separate lives. I’ve shared my life with you since we were five years old; I never wanted that to change. I still don’t. I realised then that I couldn’t imagine being with anyone but you. It’s always been you, Nina.”

The way he’s gazing at her makes her breath catch in her throat. As she tucks her head back under his chin, she murmurs jokingly, “And here I thought all the times you said ‘I love you’ to me for the past nine years were purely platonic.”

He laughs and holds her tighter, pressing her lips into her hair. “Maybe not entirely.”

She sighs and lifts her head to look at him once more, brown eyes finding blue. “So what are we now?” she asks softly. He feels the same way she does, they literally had sex not even an hour after finally admitting their feelings to each other, but wanting a relationship is a whole other story.

“I’m all in if you are,” he responds. There’s so much love in his blue eyes, she almost can’t handle it.

She takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I am.”

He smiles, his heart skipping a beat. “So I suppose I’m your boyfriend now.”

She laughs and nods. “And I’m your girlfriend.”

Laying her head back on his chest, she sighs, relaxing in his arms and wanting nothing more than to fall asleep in his embrace. She’s just on the verge of drifting off, vaguely aware of how he plays with her hair, when her eyes fly open again and she gets an idea. “Hey,” she murmurs, kissing his jaw. “Let’s not tell the others. At least not directly.” A sly look creeps into her eyes as she says, “It’d be fun to watch them figuring it out on their own, don’t you think?”

A laugh escapes his lips at the thought. “What if one of them asks us outright? And you know Adrien’s just going to keep pestering us when he begins to suspect something going on and annoy us into confirming it.”

“Feel free to tell them, by all means,” she says airily. “But I think I’ll have more fun watching them agonising over whether or not something’s changed.”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, endeared. “You’re awful.”

Rather devilishly, she grins. “You love me.”

“You’re not wrong there.” He buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply as his hand drifts between her legs, stroking her, sending shivers down her spine. She bites down hard on her lip to suppress the shaky moan that threatens to escape her throat, her breathing going shallow. Seconds later, she places a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“As much as I love this,” she starts, breathless but firm, “it’s, like, three in the morning and I kind of really, really want to sleep right now. I know it might not look like it, but riding a dick is a fucking _workout_.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, sensing a slight blush rising to his cheeks at her unabashed honesty. “I figured when you let me be on top that last time.”

She scrunches up her face and sticks her tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. “Smartass.”

He simply smiles and kisses her forehead, taking her left hand and running his thumb over the little moon tattooed on her inner wrist. “We should get another one of these,” he muses. “Matching tattoos, I mean.”

She rests her chin on his sternum, raising her eyebrows in interest. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugs. “Lock and key ankle tattoos, perhaps.”

She bites down on her lip, a little sceptical. “R told me ankle tattoos hurt like hell.” When his face falls, so slight she almost misses it, she quickly adds, “But fuck it, let’s do it. If R can handle it, so can we.”

A little smile graces his face as he brings her hand up to press his lips to her knuckles in a tender kiss, making her heart do a little tap dance in her chest. She doesn’t know what it is about hand kisses that makes her go weak at the knees.

A monstrous yawn escapes her moments later, much to her chagrin. He lets out a tiny laugh, a fond look in his blue eyes, as she smacks her lips and murmurs, “Okay, now we sleep. _Please._ ”

Another small laugh escapes him and he nods in assent, wrapping his arms tight around her and holding her close. She rests her head against his chest, right over where his heart is. The steady beat begins to lull her to sleep, her eyelids growing heavier by the moment as she starts to drift off. She sighs, burrowing closer to him. She’s right where she should be. She’s home.

She’s on the verge of dozing off completely when his voice breaks through the silence, so soft she almost doesn’t hear him.

“Hey, Nina?”

“Hm?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too.”


	24. a different point of view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nina and Gabe, from a long-time spectator’s point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do hope the pov switch isn't too jarring 🥴 it's only for this one chapter, if that's of any reassurance.
> 
> content warning for brief, mild sexual content.

* * *

Combeferre has always rather liked slow-burn romances. What he _doesn’t_ like, however, is having to bear witness to one in real life, in real time, and over the course of _twenty years_ , no less. At this point, he’s starting to consider it a special kind of torture.

He isn’t nearly as frustrated with it as Courfeyrac, though. There has been many a day in which he’d show up unannounced at Combeferre’s apartment, talking his ear off about how he just wants to see Enjolras _happy_ and he isn’t doing himself any favours in that department by keeping his mouth shut about his feelings for Éponine. There have been multiple occasions when he’s had to stop him from some serious meddling. Sometimes he thinks Courfeyrac might be a little too invested. Still, he understands his exasperation.

The fact that they know for sure that Éponine feels the same way about Enjolras doesn’t help matters. If anything, it only adds to their aggravation. For some reason, the pair keep vehemently denying that the other feels the same way, no matter how many times the rest of them try to convince them that that just isn’t the case. As a result, they’ve all stood aside and watched them struggle with their feelings for all these years, unable to do anything about it due to their sheer stubbornness. Dramatic irony at its finest.

He always makes a point of being nothing but supportive, though. Enjolras and Éponine are two of his closest friends. He grew up with them. There aren’t many things in the world that can break a twenty-year friendship.

He’s rather glad he doesn’t have as much time to dwell on it as Courfeyrac does, with his medical residency taking up the majority of his time. Though he’ll admit that sometimes, particularly during the times he’s called in at ungodly hours, he wonders why he decided to become a doctor at nine years old and actually stuck with it. At least it keeps him occupied. Far better than trying ceaselessly to figure out why on earth two of his best friends still haven’t gotten their shit together after two decades, anyway.

He’d never admit it out loud, but every now and then, he seriously considers Courfeyrac’s suggestion of forcing them into a closet and locking them in there until they admit their feelings to each other.

He lets them take their own time, though. No matter how maddeningly long it takes. Courfeyrac likes to sardonically compliment him on his extraordinary patience.

(There _has_ to be a limit somewhere, though. There’s only so much he can take before that patience finally runs out and he convinces the others to help him out in tricking them into confessing their love for each other à la _Much Ado About Nothing_.)

* * *

“Has anyone told you you’ve kind of got bags under your eyes?” Courfeyrac casually notes as he pushes open the door, sauntering into the Café Musain at the light sound of the bell. Combeferre sighs and rubs at his eyes, blinking.

“I work long hours,” he says with a resigned shrug, briskly walking up to the counter. He can hear Courfeyrac grumbling behind him, something about his long-ass legs and how he should think of the people who are nowhere near as vertically gifted as he is. “It’s not exactly something I can control.”

“Yeah, but you can control how you look,” Courfeyrac points out, raising his head to look Combeferre in the eye once he catches up to him. “You could use a cold compress or something. Stick some teaspoons in the freezer for a bit and then lie down and put the round parts over your eyes.”

A corner of Combeferre’s mouth turns up in a slight smile, small but sincere, as he turns to look at Courfeyrac. Ever since he had a massive growth spurt halfway through their freshman year of high school, Courfeyrac’s been half a foot shorter than him, something the guy is still touchy about to this day. It doesn’t help that he’d thought that at least he wouldn’t be alone, with how Enjolras was as short as him, only for Enjolras to turn out to be a late bloomer and shoot up like a tree the summer before their junior year. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, their usual agreed-upon time to get coffee together, and strangely, Enjolras is nowhere to be seen. It’s odd; he’s always been so punctual no matter what. It’s only after they get their drinks and take their usual spots in a corner by the window that they see Enjolras come skidding in, rather out of breath as he goes up to the counter and orders an iced Americano like he always does regardless of the weather, handing over the coffee tumbler he often carries around. Combeferre tilts his head, lips pursed in bemusement. Enjolras being late immediately alerts him to the fact that something is up. He and Courfeyrac exchange a look, wondering what it could possibly be.

Enjolras comes over to them five minutes later and takes a seat in his regular armchair by the window, hastily muttering an apology before taking a sip of his coffee. Combeferre watches him intently. He doesn’t think much of the fact that the top three buttons of Enjolras’ plaid blue-and-red button-down are undone, since outside of work, he forgets to do up the top three buttons of his shirts so often, Combeferre’s begun to wonder if he’s even aware of their existence in the first place, though he notices that his blond hair is rather mussed up when he inadvertently draws attention to it by running his fingers through his curls in what seems to be an attempt to smooth them down. He jumps when, out of nowhere, Courfeyrac lets out a loud gasp and points at Enjolras, eyes wide.

“Gabriel Enjolras, do mine eyes deceive me, or is that a _hickey_ I see?!” he accuses, and Combeferre cringes at how Courfeyrac’s words came out so much _louder_ than he expected them to, earning them dirty looks from a fair few of the café’s other patrons.

The way Enjolras’ face immediately turns red tells them everything they need to know. Courfeyrac slumps back in his seat, jaw slack. “Oh, my God, it _is_.” Amazed, he lets out a low whistle, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief. Combeferre pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leans closer to get a better look, rather startled by the sight of a dark red mark on Enjolras’ neck, clearly visible to anyone within a ten-foot radius.

“Where did you get that?” Combeferre asks, rather curious.

Enjolras avoids eye contact, his gaze obstinately fixed on his tumbler. “It isn’t important.”

“Um, _yeah_ , it is,” Courfeyrac contradicts, leaning so far forward in his seat, for a second there, Combeferre thinks he might fall off. A shit-eating grin slowly breaks across Courfeyrac’s face. “You’ve _never_ gotten a hickey before. At least, not that we know of. Until now. Who gave you that?”

Enjolras bites his lip, his face incriminatingly scarlet. “Like I _said_ , it isn’t important.”

Combeferre raises his eyebrows, sceptical. He’s hiding something, he can tell. “Who was it?”

“Just someone,” Enjolras says firmly, refusing to disclose any more information on the matter. He places his coffee on the small round table between them. “Can we please drop it? Julien, how is your residency going?”

A furrow forms between Combeferre’s eyebrows as he stares at Enjolras, wondering why he’s deflecting so much. “Fine,” he says, still bewildered. “We operated on a six-year-old girl a few days ago. It was kind of harrowing.”

“Éponine sent this to me earlier this morning,” Courfeyrac mentions out of the blue, changing the subject once again. Combeferre gives him an odd look as he holds out his phone to Enjolras, leaning over to see for himself. It’s a YouTube link to the music video for that Lonely Island song “I Just Had Sex”. He looks up to find that Enjolras’ face has turned red once again while Courfeyrac’s grin has only grown wider.

“Why.” Combeferre’s question falls flat, coming out as more of a statement.

“Little inside joke we have.” Courfeyrac tucks his phone back into his pocket, looking a little too pleased with himself. Combeferre scoffs and rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath as Courfeyrac explains, “Whenever one of us gets laid, we’d send it to the other.”

He turns his gaze back to Enjolras, narrowing his eyes with a bit of a smirk on his face. “So yeah, she sent that to me this morning. And yesterday. And the day before that too, actually.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Enjolras says, his hand flying to his neck, self-consciously covering his hickey.

Combeferre looks back and forth between the other two, connecting the dots, while Courfeyrac gives an absolutely _evil_ grin and replies nonchalantly, “I never said it did.”

Enjolras scowls. “You insinuated it.”

At that point, Combeferre interjects, tired of beating around the bush. “Adrien, what’s your point?”

“My point _is_ , is it really just a coincidence that Éponine sends me that three days in a row and Gabe was late today when he’s _never_ late and he just _happens_ to have a hickey?” Courfeyrac points out, arching an eyebrow. Combeferre presses his lips together. That is a very fair point.

Enjolras sighs, looking down into his lap and rubbing the tattoo on his inner wrist. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath.

Combeferre raises his eyebrows expectantly as he takes a sip of his latte. “Is there anything you’d like to tell us, Gabriel?”

“Nina and I are in a relationship. And before you ask, Adrien—not that it’s really any of your business, but I know you’re going to ask anyway, so I might as well get it over with— _yes_ , we’ve slept together already.” Enjolras lifts his head to look at them, blue eyes piercing, eyebrows arched. “Are you happy?”

Combeferre stares at him, gaze slowly shifting to Courfeyrac, who looks just as stunned as he feels, before looking back at Enjolras. “Are you—are you serious?” Courfeyrac asks. “Are you just fucking with us right now or is this for real?”

The look on Enjolras’ face softens and he laughs then, a little incredulous. “Why would I be joking about this? Of course I’m serious. We’re together.”

For the longest time, none of them speak. And then Courfeyrac opens his mouth and _screeches_.

“HOLY _SHIT_!”

 _Everyone_ in the café turns to stare at them, or, more accurately, glare. Combeferre realises how he’s never fully understood what “shooting daggers” means until now.

One of the baristas darts out from behind the counter to approach them, sparing Combeferre and Enjolras an apologetic smile before turning to Courfeyrac and tactfully requesting, “I’m sorry, but can you please keep it down a bit? Otherwise, we’d have to ask you to leave.”

Combeferre gives Courfeyrac the stink eye, resisting a smirk at how he squirms, before turning back to the barista and mustering his most gracious smile. “We’ll keep it down, we promise. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s alright! Just keep it down from now on, okay?” The barista flashes them another smile before returning to the counter, leaving the three of them sitting there, Courfeyrac still gaping at Enjolras, openmouthed. Then, without warning, he flies out of his seat to surge forward and tackle Enjolras in a hug, catching him off-guard. Combeferre bites back a laugh at the way Enjolras wheezes, all the breath knocked out of him.

“You have no idea,” Courfeyrac starts rambling at top speed, “ _no idea_ how long I have waited for this, I’ve never felt so goddamn _vindicated_ , all those years ago I got ordained online on my eighteenth birthday because I knew someday this day would come and now it finally has and—”

“Wait, wait.” Enjolras gently pushes Courfeyrac off of him, looking rather overwhelmed. “ _What?_ ”

“What?” Courfeyrac shrugs, and Combeferre laughs under his breath, rolling his eyes. “I officiated your fake wedding back in the first grade, didn’t I? I thought I’d get myself ordained and registered with the court so I can officiate your actual wedding. When’s that, by the way?”

Poor Enjolras looks too stunned to speak for a moment there. Combeferre can’t help but smile. It’s kind of funny, seeing him rack his brain for the right words. “She and I just made things official _two days ago_ ,” he says at last. “It’s a bit too soon to be thinking about marriage, don’t you think?”

“Not when you’ve known each other for, like, twenty-two years,” Courfeyrac points out. “And Harry and Sally got married after three months. Twelve years and three months.”

Combeferre’s eyebrows furrow. “Harry and Sally are fictional.”

Courfeyrac gives him a sour look. “That’s _not_ the _point_!” Turning back to Enjolras, he questions, “So when are you gonna pop the question?”

“Like I said.” Enjolras picks his tumbler back up and pointedly takes a sip of his iced coffee, giving Courfeyrac a look. “She and I _just_ made things official two days ago. We have plenty of time to talk about marriage. Besides, I don’t even know if she _wants_ to get married.”

“Pretty sure she does. I mean, she was willing to fake-marry you in the first grade,” Courfeyrac reminds him once again. “She was the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Enjolras lets out a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes. “A lot can change in twenty years, Adrien.”

Courfeyrac purses his lips before pulling Enjolras into a hug once again, and this time, Combeferre joins in, and it’s awkward and kind of uncomfortable but he doesn’t really care, and he’s sure the other two don’t either. It must be a strange sight to outsiders, he thinks in amusement.

When they draw back, Courfeyrac wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, smirking. “So why exactly were you completely MIA for all of yesterday? Too distracted by Éponine’s… _assets_?”

“And this conversation is officially over,” Enjolras announces as he takes another sip of his coffee, shooting Courfeyrac a dirty look. Combeferre throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

Combeferre listens to his footsteps echoing through the stairwell as he ascends another flight of stairs, wondering why on earth Enjolras and Éponine chose an apartment on one of the top floors in a walk-up. He took a few days out of his schedule to help them haul boxes and furniture up the stairs way back when they were in the process of moving in all those years ago. He thinks that might have been the last time he got some semblance of proper exercise before getting swept up in med school. Actually, he can’t remember the last time he hit the gym. He makes a mental note to do that at some point later this week.

At long last, he reaches their floor, taking the key Enjolras has lent him out of his pocket when he reaches their door. He’s just stopping by to pick up a few things for the surprise birthday party they’re throwing for Marius later that week. Enjolras has already told him he’s put everything in a box in his room—well, his and Éponine’s room now, Combeferre supposes—so he can be in and out in no time without having to bother them. If they’re even home.

He unlocks the door and quietly pads in, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly by the foot of the little table in the foyer, though he doesn’t bother with his coat, since he won’t be long anyway. Looking up, the sight of several framed photographs adorning the walls greets him, and his gaze sweeps over them, catching himself smiling. He notices how a photograph from the infamous first-grade wedding has joined the rest of the pictures, and he resists a laugh. Enjolras looked so small in the suit jacket he “borrowed” from his father. They’ve come a long way since then.

He freezes when he hears a soft, shaky moan, soon followed by a breathy sigh, barely audible. As silently as he can, he tiptoes into the living room only to stop in his tracks at the sight that greets him from the kitchen.

Éponine sits at the edge of the kitchen island wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt, likely one of Enjolras’, her bare, tan legs hooked around his waist and her arms dangling loosely around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. Enjolras, shirtless, stands between her legs, clad in sweatpants, breathing heavily as he rolls his hips against hers in a steady rhythm, with his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white against the granite countertop. She presses kisses all over his face, whispering to him and sighing out his name as he lets out a low groan and raises his head to capture her lips in a heated kiss. A muffled whimper escapes her when he slides his hand between them, and she tosses her head back, eyes closed, her grip on his curls tightening and her moans progressively increasing in volume and pitch as his lips find her neck, a muscular arm looped around her waist. They’re so caught up in each other, neither of them notice Combeferre there at all.

Cheeks growing hot at having walked in at such an inopportune moment, he quickly tears his gaze away and silently makes his way to their bedroom to fetch the box containing party supplies. Upon entering, he startles a little at the feeling of something furry rubbing up against his ankles, looking down to see Éponine’s dog Ginger weaving between his legs before she trots off and jumps up onto the narrow window seat, staring out the window.

Sparing the dog a curious glance, Combeferre searches the room for the box and finds it almost completely buried under a pile of clothes on a chair in the corner—clearly Éponine’s doing, since Enjolras has always been such a neat freak. Combeferre laughs quietly to himself as he carefully sets aside the clothes to pick up the box, wondering how they manage. On his way back out, he pointedly avoids looking in their direction. Not that they notice, he wryly thinks as he closes the door and locks it behind him, heading on downstairs and back to his car, taking in the crisp November air.

He still feels so damn _weird_ at having walked in on their lovemaking by the time he gets back to his place in Morningside Heights, he almost doesn’t notice Courfeyrac sprawled out on the couch until the guy chooses _just_ the right moment to call out to him and alert him of his presence. As Combeferre places the box on the breakfast bar, he nearly jumps out of his skin when Courfeyrac chirps, “No hello for me?”

Whirling around, Combeferre searches the room through wild eyes before seeing Courfeyrac on the couch and glares at him as he dissolves into cacophonous, hysterical laughter, clearly finding this funnier than Combeferre does. Unamused, he leans back against the countertop and waits for his laughter to die down, crossing his arms across his chest and questioning, “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d drop by and hang out for a bit,” Courfeyrac cheerfully replies, pointing the remote at the TV. “And help out a little with party-planning, maybe. You know I’m great at that shit. And I know the soft sort of shit Marius likes. Yes, I know how weird that sounds out of context, but do get your mind out of the gutter. Also, we live in New York, is it really the best idea to keep your spare key on the top of your doorframe?”

Combeferre stares at him, incredulous. The whole reason he keeps it up there in the first place is because the vast majority of the human population isn’t six foot two. “How the hell did you even reach?”

Courfeyrac huffs, disgruntled at the reminder of his relatively short stature. “Okay, it took a lot of jumping and falling on my ass, but I’ll have you know I managed it in the end.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Oh, and, by the way, one of my exes finally figured out I was using her Netflix account, so she changed her password, so then I tried using another ex’s and found out he changed _his_ password a long time ago, so I came over here to borrow yours.”

Combeferre marches over to him and attempts to grab the remote out of his hand before he shoves it under him and lies on top of it, sticking his tongue out and blowing a raspberry. “Stop it, you’re ruining my algorithm,” he protests. “Also, take off your shoes, you’re getting my carpet dirty.”

Courfeyrac makes a big show of petulantly rolling his eyes, kicking off his shoes with such force, they fly across the room. Combeferre sighs, going to pick them up and place them by the door. By the time he returns to the living room, Courfeyrac’s shifted positions slightly, the remote still nowhere to be seen. “We should move in together again,” he suggests out of the blue. Tearing his gaze away from the television screen momentarily, he flashes Combeferre a grin. “You were a great roomie.”

“Thank you. You were terrible,” Combeferre nonchalantly replies, returning Courfeyrac’s grin with a close-lipped smile. Immediately, the grin falls from Courfeyrac’s face, and he glowers at him.

“ _Wow._ Okay. I genuinely compliment you for once, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“Adrien, I had to bribe you into doing your chores, and even then, you didn’t do a very good job of them. Forgive me if I’m not thrilled at the idea of becoming roommates again. Which isn’t happening, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Courfeyrac rolls his eyes and promptly changes the subject. “So how was it at Ép and Gabe’s place? Did you stick around for a bit? When I came, you’d already left, and I didn’t know how long you’d been gone.”

“I didn’t, actually.” Combeferre plops down into his armchair by the window, leaning back and sighing. “I accidentally walked in on them having sex on their kitchen counter. So. There’s that.”

Immediately, Courfeyrac straightens up, his eyes so wide, Combeferre thinks they might pop out of his skull if they bug out any further. “Wait, _what_? Holy shit, back up a little. _What?_ ”

Despite himself, Combeferre chuckles, wondering whether he should be amused or disturbed by how invested Courfeyrac is. It’s very quickly crossing over into creep territory. “Gabriel lent me a key so I wouldn’t have to knock,” he says. “So I went in and there they were. They weren’t naked or anything—well, Gabriel was shirtless and Éponine didn’t have any pants on, but that was about as far as it went in terms of nudity—also, when is Gabriel finding the time to hit the gym? He is in _ridiculously_ good shape—but it was pretty clear that they were having sex.”

Courfeyrac’s jaw drops. “How did they react?”

Combeferre’s lips form a bit of an ironic smile. “They didn’t. I was in and out and they never realised I was there.”

“Dude.” Courfeyrac leans back against the couch cushions and whistles, stretching out his arms along the top. “What the fuck.”

“I know. It’s beyond weird—and honestly a little scarring—to see with your own eyes that two people you grew up with are sleeping together now.”

“No, not that! What was it like? Tell me. And don’t leave out any details!”

“Adrien, unlike you, I’m not a fan of voyeurism, especially when two of my closest friends are involved.”

Courfeyrac glowers at him and tosses a throw pillow in his direction. He narrowly misses and hits the lamp in the corner instead. Combeferre rolls his eyes and laughs as Courfeyrac crossly gripes, “I’m not into voyeurism!”

Combeferre’s gaze trails back to the television, sighing in annoyance and grimacing when he sees that Courfeyrac has been on a bit of a _Glee_ binge. And he went to all that trouble of attempting to erase all traces of Courfeyrac’s questionable taste from his Netflix algorithm. All for nothing.

“Remember when we and Gabe did the ‘Single Ladies’ dance for the winter talent show back in ninth grade?” Courfeyrac reminisces aloud, grinning to himself as he keeps his eyes glued to the television. “We were fucking awesome.”

“We also got made fun of for weeks afterwards,” Combeferre mutters rather absently, more to himself than anyone else. They’d worn sleeveless black unitards and slicked their hair back—or attempted to, anyway, with how Courfeyrac’s curls refused to cooperate, as did Enjolras’ to a lesser extent. None of them regretted a moment of it, but their performance earned them quite a bit of ridicule all the way until school let out for spring break, after which everyone seemed to forget all about it.

Courfeyrac turns up his nose, an air of haughtiness about him. “Our classmates’ lack of taste was their problem, not ours. I’d like to see those fuckers try to do the dance. That shit’s harder than it looks.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “I figured. You made us practise it four times a week for two months straight before the talent show. At one point, Éponine started complaining that we were stealing Gabriel away from her.”

Courfeyrac arches his back to meet Combeferre’s gaze, flashing him a toothy grin. “Our hard work paid off, didn’t it?”

“Why, yes, I guess it did.” Combeferre glances at the television, rather lost in his thoughts before they drift back to what he’d witnessed earlier at Éponine and Enjolras’ apartment. Try as he might, he can’t quite get the image out of his head just yet.

“It was really rather sweet, actually,” he says out of the blue, ignoring the weird look Courfeyrac sends his way. “Éponine and Gabriel, I mean. You know. Them having sex. They were really close and she was talking to him, whispering, and kissing him all over his face before he properly kissed her, and—”

“Ugh, fuck me.” Courfeyrac gags in disgust and mimes vomiting. “If you’re going to make it all gross and sappy and _gross_ , I want nothing to do with it.”

Combeferre bites back a smile. That was exactly the kind of reaction he was hoping for so they would finally drop the subject. Not that Courfeyrac ever has to know.

“I’m just telling you how I saw it,” he says, shrugging.

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, laughing drolly. “God, you’re so _lame_.”

“Not all of us are sex maniacs like you, Adrien. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not a sex maniac! Stop slut-shaming me!”

“I’m not slut-shaming you, I’m just stating a fact! There’s a distinction.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“It sort of feels like you’re implying that you _want_ to be slut-shamed.”

“Ass.”

“They say it takes one to know one, so…”

Combeferre can’t hold back a laugh when an indignant Courfeyrac throws another pillow at him. Once again, he misses.

* * *

Combeferre frowns in mild confusion as he walks into the Olive Garden in Times Square, wondering why on earth Enjolras asked to meet there of all places. He finds him at a table by the window, accompanied by Feuilly, who looks just as mystified as Combeferre feels. Taking a seat across from Enjolras, he glances at him questioningly and exchanges a look with Feuilly.

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre asks, absently paging through the menu he’s been provided with.

Enjolras’ eyebrows furrow and he presses his lips together. “Why would you immediately assume something is wrong?”

“We’re eating at Olive Garden,” Combeferre points out, although not condescendingly. He’s simply baffled as to why Enjolras would choose this place, since the man isn’t exactly known to eat at chain restaurants outside of the fast-food joints he and Éponine sometimes frequent for last-minute lunches or attempts at curing a hangover.

Feuilly laughs under his breath. “Don’t let the staff hear you say that.”

Enjolras runs his fingers through his hair, more so out of habit than anything else. “I just wanted to ask if you would help me out with something, but you absolutely cannot tell anyone.”

Combeferre purses his lips, looking at Feuilly. It sounds rather serious. Looking back at Enjolras expectantly, he raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Enjolras sucks in a deep breath, toying with the sleeve of his denim jacket. “I’m proposing to Nina this weekend.”

For a moment there, Combeferre and Feuilly just gape at him, rendered speechless. Feuilly is the first to break the silence. “Oh, wow, that’s amazing!”

A faint pink blush rises to Enjolras’ cheeks. “She and I have been discussing it recently,” he says. “We were talking about it a couple of weeks ago, on her birthday. She told me she wants to get married. It’s time to take the next step, I think.” He laughs to himself then, shaking his head. “This probably would have happened years ago if we’d sorted out our feelings earlier.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes, good-natured, though admittedly rather exasperated at the mere memory of the past decade or two. “Tell me about it. Do you have a ring?”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth quirks up in a little smile. “Yes, I do, actually.”

He bows his head, smiling to himself, before looking back up. “I was thinking I could take her out to Central Park. The Shakespeare Garden is rather quiet most of the time; there aren’t an awful lot of people there like there usually are everywhere else, so it’ll be private. I was wondering if you two could help me out.”

Feuilly grins and leans forward. “Shoot.”

“Marc, I was wondering if you’d be willing to take pictures,” Enjolras says. “And Julien, could you maybe record it? You and Marc could hide somewhere so Nina won’t see you, and you could record and take pictures.”

“We’d be happy to,” Combeferre tells him, and though he doesn’t let it show on his face, he’s secretly rather thrilled. Finally. _Finally._ This is happening. And it only took twenty-something years. “What time?”

“We’ll take Ginger on a walk at around three in the afternoon on Saturday. She isn’t a yappy dog; she won’t interrupt the proposal.” His cheeks take on a faint shade of pink once again when he admits, “And I’ve been practising my proposal speech on her whenever Nina is out of the house. It doubles as training her to stay quiet.”

Feuilly laughs. “So we should get there around three o’clock, then?”

“Approximately, yes.” Enjolras absently toys with a fork. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? At least not until after it happens.”

Combeferre can’t bite back the small laugh that bubbles up in his chest upon realising something. “Adrien will be furious when he finds out I was involved and he wasn’t.”

Enjolras snorts. “Oh, he’ll get over it. He’ll be officiating the wedding, after all.” Looking back and forth between Combeferre and Feuilly, he says, “Right, so we’re settled, then?”

Feuilly nods. “Yes, three in the afternoon this Saturday.”

Combeferre cracks a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Alright, then.” Enjolras consults his menu, beckoning a waiter over. And that’s that.

Afterwards, once they’ve finished up all their lunch, Feuilly bids them goodbye and goes straight home, so Combeferre and Enjolras decide to take a stroll through Central Park, take in the sights. Flowers blooming, birds chirping. Spring in full swing. Combeferre’s always liked springtime. He glances sideways at Enjolras, watching how his blue eyes stare at nothing in particular, hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, seeming rather lost in his own thoughts.

“What’s on your mind?” Combeferre questions.

Enjolras shrugs. “I just can’t believe this is really happening. I spent all those years thinking she didn’t feel the same way about me…”

“Maybe you should _listen to us_ next time,” Combeferre wryly quips, rolling his eyes as Enjolras laughs in mild embarrassment.

“Will you be my best man?” he asks, turning his head to meet Combeferre’s eyes.

“Is that even a question?” Combeferre slings an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders, pulling him into a side hug and laughing. “Of course.”

“Awesome.” Enjolras grins, an honest-to-God _grin_ , and leans into Combeferre. “Nina said she’s going to ask Cosette to be her matron of honour.”

“So you’re really recreating your fake wedding from when we were seven?” Combeferre laughs, shaking his head.

Spots of red bloom in Enjolras’ cheeks, and he bows his head for a few seconds, rather sheepish. “It was mostly Nina’s idea. I just think the side-by-side comparisons we’ll be able to make will be cute. Azelma will be there too this time, though. Nina’s going to have both a maid and matron of honour, she said.”

Combeferre smiles, dropping his arm from around Enjolras and simply watching him for a bit, observing him. “This is really happening, huh? You’re getting married.”

Enjolras breathes out a laugh, looking like he still can’t quite believe it. “I’m getting married.” He looks up at the trees, smiling like an idiot to himself. “I never thought I’d get to say that.”

“How is being in a committed relationship treating you?” Combeferre asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as they walk down the Mall.

“It’s going well.” Enjolras glances over at him momentarily, blue eyes meeting grey, and a corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “We’re still best friends first and foremost. It makes things easier when we fight. We always work it out in the end.” He bows his head, chuckling to himself. “I just—I love her so much. I’ve loved her my entire life, or at least for as long as I can remember, but I never really realised just how much.”

“Right.” Combeferre gazes at him, thoughtful. “I could have told you that years ago, by the way. But you kept insisting on denying everything.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes with a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes, I get it. You and everyone else were tired of me and Nina spending so much time avoiding addressing our feelings. It took some time, but we got there in the end, didn’t we? That’s what counts.”

“You didn’t have to be _quite_ so stubborn about it, though,” Combeferre points out just as Enjolras seems to spot someone in the distance and waves, his entire face lighting up. Following his gaze, Combeferre sees Éponine at Bethesda Fountain, holding Ginger in her arms and talking to Jehan and Grantaire, Toby the Yorkie snoozing away in his black stroller. Combeferre still wonders sometimes why exactly Grantaire bought a stroller for his dog.

He watches as Éponine beams and sets Ginger down, handing Ginger’s leash to Jehan, before getting to her feet and practically sprinting towards Enjolras as he jogs on ahead, the two of them meeting in the middle. She tackles him in a hug, her shriek of laughter when he sweeps her off her feet ringing through the air. Once her feet are on solid ground again, she leans up to press her lips to his in a kiss, and Combeferre can actually see how Enjolras smiles as he kisses her back. Behind them, Jehan sighs, a dreamy smile on his face, while Grantaire just rolls his eyes and pretends to gag. Combeferre snorts.

“Hey!” Éponine chirps once she draws back from Enjolras a couple seconds later, grinning up at him and sparing a glance over his shoulder at Combeferre, nodding in acknowledgement. “Didn’t expect to run into you two here.”

“We went to grab some lunch and thought we’d go for a walk afterwards,” Enjolras tells her, kissing her forehead. She giggles and leans into him, raising her chin to lean up and peck him on the lips again.

“Get a room, you two!” Grantaire calls out. Éponine reaches back and flips him off.

Combeferre shakes his head and laughs as he goes to join Jehan and Grantaire, reaching down to pet Ginger before Jehan promptly lets go of her leash and she takes off running towards Éponine, jumping into her arms. Éponine and Enjolras approach them at the fountain, and Enjolras gives them a sheepish smile.

“Nina and I figured we’d go home,” he says. “We’ll see you around?”

Combeferre nods, flashing them a little smile as Grantaire exaggeratedly salutes them. Jehan beams, giving a small wave of his hand. “We’ll see you around.”

They watch as Éponine places Ginger back down on the ground, looping the end of her leash around her wrist as Enjolras puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head as they walk away down the promenade. Combeferre, Jehan, and Grantaire watch them as they grow smaller and smaller in the distance, Grantaire absently pushing and pulling Toby’s stroller, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“They’re so cute.” He scrunches up his face, then snorts. “It’s disgusting.”

Jehan elbows him in the ribs, pursing his lips. “It’s _adorable_.”

Combeferre lets out a low chuckle. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sure.” Grantaire snorts again, shaking his head and lifting Toby, now awake, out of his stroller to cuddle and coo over him. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

Jehan rolls his eyes, rather exasperated, though a small smile plays at his lips. “You are incorrigible.”

Grantaire only gives him a lazy grin in return. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Combeferre lets out a quiet laugh and rolls his eyes, looking down to check his watch and swiftly rising to his feet when he sees what time it is. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I should be going now. I have a best man speech to draft.”

At that, Jehan immediately furrows his eyebrows and shoots Combeferre a questioning look. “What?”

“Nothing.” Combeferre bites back a smile. He should probably refrain from mentioning such things in Jehan’s presence lest the latter gets any ideas in his head. “I suppose I’ll be going now.”

Jehan purses his lips and arches an eyebrow at him, almost suspicious, but he nods nevertheless. “Alright, then.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Grantaire barely pays him any attention, too busy cooing at Toby in a ridiculous baby voice as Jehan watches the two of them, a fond smile on his face. Combeferre makes it about five steps before Grantaire finally seems to register what he just said moments earlier and looks up so abruptly, Combeferre momentarily fears that he might snap his neck. “Wait, _what_?”


	25. a big question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly twenty-three years after they first met, Enjolras finally pops the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [honey, let's get married](https://youtu.be/NoDlZpmBfQ0)

* * *

By the time Éponine’s twenty-eighth birthday rolls around, Enjolras has no doubt left in his mind about wanting to marry her.

Being with her just feels so natural, so _right_. It didn’t take them very long at all to grow comfortable in their relationship, since they’re so used to each other already; they’ve always been thick as thieves. They’ve stuck together through all their highs and lows, seen each other at their literal worst. When they’re together, they don’t need to be anything but themselves.

On the morning of her birthday, he wakes up to morning light streaming in through the sheer curtains fifteen minutes before she even stirs, finding her all curled up, clutching the sheets in her fists. He looks over and sees Ginger at her usual spot in her bed on the window seat, fast asleep. She must have gotten up and wriggled her way out of Éponine’s arms to sleep next to the window at some point while they were sleeping.

He contents himself with just lying there and waiting for her to rouse, watching her sleep, counting the light freckles sprinkled across her nose. Even in slumber, she seems rather tense, her face rather pinched, with a tiny furrow between her eyebrows, lips pressed tightly together, eyes squeezed shut. Her eyelashes flutter a little when he reaches out to brush some hair out of her face, eyes slowly blinking open as she lets out an enormous yawn, wiping at the dried drool dribbling out the corner of her mouth.

Enjolras laughs a little dryly. “Morning, sunshine.”

Éponine wrinkles her nose, making a face at him. “Yeah, okay.”

A tiny smile playing at his lips, he leans in to kiss her forehead, murmuring, “Happy birthday, my love.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, it’s my birthday!” A dimpled smile lights up her entire face at the reminder, and she leans up, nuzzling her nose against his and giggling. “We’re the same age again.”

He rolls his eyes and smiles, chuckling in amusement. “Yes, we are.”

“Mm.” She hums, lays her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat, sliding a hand up his tank top to trail her fingers along his abs and smirking when she feels his breath hitch. Looking up to meet his eyes, she questions, “So what’s on the agenda for today, babe?”

“Well, Cosette is throwing you a party at her and Marius’ place later this morning,” he tells her, holding her closer. “It starts at ten o’clock, according to the text she sent me a few days ago.”

She steals a glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, the bright red digits informing her that it’s currently three minutes past seven. It usually takes them roughly twenty minutes to reach Cosette and Marius’ Upper West Side townhouse from their apartment in the Village if they go by subway and another ten minutes of walking. Only twenty minutes if they take the car, which they’ll probably end up doing since they’ll likely have to carry home a whole load of birthday presents. Either way, they won’t need to take off until around nine thirty.

Her smirk growing just the slightest bit wider, she meets his gaze again, her hand slowly moving downwards to toy with the waistband of his boxer briefs as she murmurs a little too implicatively, “What do you suggest we do to celebrate until then?”

Catching on, he flips them over so he hovers above her, smiling at how that draws a giggle from her. His voice is low as he softly responds, “I think I have a few ideas.” Her grin is the last thing he sees before he dives under the covers, making himself comfortable between her legs and listening to her sharp intake of breath when he plants a kiss on her inner thigh.

She’s pretty sure her brain short-circuits after that.

He emerges from under the sheets roughly ten minutes and three orgasms later, a little too smug at the sight of her panting hard, still trembling a little as she lies there, her chest heaving. He smiles in satisfaction and leans in to kiss her, and she lets out a soft moan upon tasting herself on his lips, reaching up to hold his face in her shaking hands. Her eyes are still closed when he pulls away, slowly fluttering open as she laughs rather breathlessly, brown eyes shining as they gaze into his blue.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes out, dimples carving themselves into her cheeks, a dazed, distracted smile playing at her lips. “I think you killed me.”

He laughs and takes her into his arms, kissing her forehead before she tucks her head back under his chin. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” she replies breathlessly, which is good, because he would be worried if she wasn’t. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have bones anymore.” She lets out a shaky laugh then and looks up, rather amused by the sight of his blond curls in disarray. “Your hair’s a mess,” she comments with a teasing smile.

He rolls his eyes, laughs once more at the memory of her desperately grabbing at it, fingers wound tightly into his curls, crying out his name and begging him not to stop. “No thanks to you.”

She grins and kisses the dimple in his chin, laying her head on his chest again, holding him tight. “You should wear tank tops more often,” she comments, running her hand over his bicep and giving it a light, playful squeeze. “Show off dem arms.”

He lets out a wry laugh under his breath, kissing the top of her head. “Whatever you say, Nina.” They fall silent then, and after several blissful moments, he murmurs, “Okay, why don’t I make you some actual breakfast in bed, and we can shower afterwards?”

“Mm.” She leans up to kiss him again, giggling. She’s not sure when she became someone who giggles. “Sounds like a plan.”

He kisses her back, smiling against her lips. She whines a little, making grabby hands at him, when he pulls away and slides out of bed. “I’ll be back,” he promises with a quiet laugh.

She watches as he slips out of their bedroom, appreciating the view of his ass in those tight boxer briefs a little too much before he shuts the door behind him. Grinning like an idiot to herself, she stretches out in bed and shivers, still rather sensitive from Enjolras eating her out like a five-course meal. God, how the _fuck_ does he do that? Whenever he goes down on her (which is _considerably_ more often than she’d ever care to admit aloud), she can never move for a solid five minutes afterwards. Honestly, her past lays kind of suck in comparison now.

Looking over to the window, she notices Ginger stirring and clicks her tongue, beckoning her over. Ginger obediently jumps off the narrow window seat she’s claimed as her own, trotting over to jump up onto the bed and into Éponine’s arms. She laughs, hugging Ginger to her and petting her little head.

“It’s my birthday today, Ginger!” she chirps, laughing when Ginger barks once in response. “We’re going to your Auntie Coco’s place for my birthday party.” Another bark. “You excited?” Bark bark bark. “Yeah, me, too.”

Enjolras returns twenty minutes later with a tray of chocolate chip waffles topped with strawberries and powdered sugar in hand, greeted by the sight of Éponine cuddling a squirming Ginger on the bed. Chuckling under his breath, he carefully sets the tray down on the sheets once Éponine sits up and crosses her legs, Ginger content to sit in her lap.

Éponine exaggerates a disgustingly lovesick look as Enjolras climbs back into bed to sit next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her temple. “You’re too good to me,” she coos, laughing out loud at the weird look he shoots her way, eyebrows furrowed, lips forming a questioning smile.

She feeds Ginger a small strawberry slice before cutting out a bit of waffle for herself, humming in delight as she chews on it. Ginger slips out of her lap and into Enjolras’ while she devours her breakfast, clearly wanting to be with someone who’ll pay her more attention, at least at this very moment. At some point, Éponine stabs her fork through a piece and feeds it to Enjolras, giggling at how he just opens his mouth and eats it without question as he scratches under Ginger’s chin.

Her mind wanders a little as she gazes at them, her powdered sugar–outlined lips forming a smile at the sight of Ginger with her neck outstretched as she looks up at Enjolras through her big puppy eyes while he talks to her and scratches her chest. Éponine wonders when exactly they started considering Ginger as more _their_ dog rather than strictly hers. (Although she likes to think that Ginger still prefers her most of the time, as she _obviously_ should.)

“Another year closer to thirty,” Enjolras comments as Éponine stuffs a strawberry in her mouth and gives him a _look_.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” she drawls, sending a lazy grin his way. He chuckles and smiles back, refraining from pointing out the strawberry seeds stuck between her teeth.

By the time Éponine’s licked her plate clean of powdered sugar, Ginger’s fallen asleep in Enjolras’ lap, her little head resting on his thigh. Éponine lifts her out of his lap and slides out of bed, carefully so not to wake her, and tiptoes over to the window, placing her on her little bed. She returns to Enjolras, grabbing his hand.

“Come on, we should get in the shower before she wakes up and tries to follow us in,” she tells him, pulling him out of bed. He lets out a somewhat incredulous laugh and obliges, following her out of their bedroom and leaving the door just slightly ajar, should Ginger wake up while they’re in the shower.

She drags him into the bathroom, cupping his face in her hands and standing on tiptoe to press her lips to his. He reaches behind himself, fumbling a bit before he manages to lock the door, and smiles into the kiss, pulling her into his arms and kissing her back.

After a few moments, she draws back, grinning at him as she pulls her T-shirt up over her head. Try as he might, he can’t quite tear his gaze away from her bare breasts. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices her smirk as she lets her panties drop to the floor, now completely naked. His breath catches. Good Lord, she’s stunning. Ten months in, and she still never fails to mesmerise him.

She laughs, teasingly remarking, “You’ve got too many clothes on, don’t you think?”

He swallows and finally manages to meet her eyes, his throat having gone rather dry. “Why don’t you come over here and take them off, then?” he challenges in reply, his voice somehow remaining steady.

She raises an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth quirking up. “I think I will.”

Without prelude, she steps closer to him so there’s barely any space left between them, her eyes fixed firmly on his before they begin to trail downwards. Wordlessly, he raises his arms so she can tug his shirt up and over his head, tossing his shirt aside and making zero effort to disguise the fact that she’s very obviously checking him out, running a hand up his bicep. She pulls his boxer briefs down, letting them fall to the floor for him to step out of. Slowly, almost tantalisingly so, she drags her gaze back up, meeting his eyes once again and grinning.

“So how much time do we have?” she questions, her voice low, enticing.

“Well, it’s about eight o’clock now,” he breathes out in reply, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in a tiny smile, “and we don’t really have to leave for the party until around nine thirty.”

She grins. “Well, then,” she murmurs, her hand gliding down his chest and coming to a stop at his hip, inches away from his ass, “that gives us plenty of time to fool around a bit.”

He steals a brief glance at her hand before meeting her gaze again. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I would think so.”

Her grin grows even wider, a little laugh escaping her, and she stands on tiptoe to grab his face and kiss him again as she steps into the tub and drags him in. He smiles against her lips, yanking the shower curtain closed.

* * *

Éponine hangs around the living room, gazing at the photographs on the wall, while Enjolras loads the last of her birthday presents into the trunk of their car outside. Late afternoon sunlight fills the room, golden hour fast approaching. Everyone else has left, Jehan, Grantaire, and Toby having been the last to depart, so now it’s just Éponine, Enjolras, Cosette, Marius, and their dogs. Last she checked, Ginger is out in the small backyard, playing with Chou Chou as Marius watches them. She startles a little when Cosette silently approaches her, whirling around at the feeling of her tapping on her shoulder.

“Oh. Hey.” A weak laugh escapes her as she wraps her leather jacket tighter around herself, the myriad enamel pins on the lapels rattling slightly.

“Oh! Sorry if I scared you,” Cosette says, letting out an apologetic giggle. She reaches to straighten out the Burn Book enamel pin on Éponine’s jacket, asking lightly, “How are you?”

“Fine, I guess?” Éponine shrugs, not really sure of what to say. “Thank you so much for the party, Coco. I really appreciate it.”

Cosette beams and leans up to kiss the tip of her nose. “Oh, it was no problem! Any excuse to throw a party for one of my favourite people.” Her eyes wander to the window, seeing Enjolras still working on arranging Éponine’s presents in the trunk of the car so everything fits. Éponine follows Cosette’s gaze as the latter asks innocently, “So? Anything new on the relationship front? Should I be saving a date?”

Éponine’s face immediately flushes red at the implications in Cosette’s words. “Not at the moment,” she replies, cheeks burning. “We haven’t really talked about marriage yet. But I promise you’ll be my matron of honour if—when we do get married.”

Cosette laughs. “Well, I hope so! But what about Azelma? She’s been wanting to be your maid of honour ever since we were kids, hasn’t she?”

“She’ll be my maid of honour. There’s no rule against having both a maid and matron of honour, right?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

Éponine absently wanders over to the fireplace, toying with her locket as she gazes rather longingly at the framed photographs, largely consisting of photos of Georgie over the past almost three years with pictures of Cosette, Marius, and Chou Chou scattered throughout. She smiles at a photograph from their college years, from the year Cosette cut her blonde hair into a shoulder-length bob and dyed it baby pink. Those were the days.

As Cosette goes to stand by her, Éponine laughs softly and mentions, “Adrien _really_ wants Gabriel and me to get married. He wants to officiate the wedding. He says he got ordained online and registered with the court and everything back when we were eighteen with the specific intention of officiating my and Gabriel’s wedding one day in mind.” She rolls her eyes, chuckling wryly. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

Cosette laughs out loud, snorting in between giggles. Her laugh has always been like that. Éponine wonders how she manages to make even that sound adorable. “We’ll recreate your fake wedding from when we were seven.”

Éponine laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “God, how come you and Adrien and Julien remembered it and Gabriel and I didn’t? What kind of person just _forgets_ their first damn kiss?”

“You two, apparently,” Cosette quips. Éponine rolls her eyes, laughing self-deprecatingly.

They walk over to the window, gazing at the streets, and they see Fantine walking down the pavement, hand in hand with Georgie. He calls out Enjolras’ name the moment he spots him and runs over to hug his legs before Enjolras scoops him up, throwing him into the air like he weighs nothing and effortlessly catching him again, the two of them laughing. The sight of it makes something flutter in Éponine’s chest. Cosette steals a sideways glance at Éponine, a knowing little smile on her face.

Eventually, she goes to greet her mother and son at the door, Éponine a few steps behind her when Georgie runs inside and leaps into her arms. “Hi, baby!” Cosette enthusiastically greets, kissing his cheek. “Did you have fun with Nana?”

“Yeah!” Georgie replies, giggling. Fantine approaches Éponine, catching her somewhat off-guard when she pulls her into a hug.

“Happy birthday, honey!” she says, drawing back after a few moments to look her up and down. “You look absolutely lovely.”

Éponine, rather flustered, has just barely murmured her thanks when Georgie looks over at her and screams, instantly reaching out for her and beaming. “Auntie Nini!”

Laughing in surprise, Éponine reaches out to take Georgie from Cosette, bouncing him in her arms. She wonders where the almost three-year-old got “Auntie Nini” from. Probably a combination of hearing Cosette referring to her as Panini and Enjolras calling her Nina. “Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” she comments with a smile, ruffling the toddler’s wavy blond hair. Georgie giggles, trying to grab at her locket.

He twists around in Éponine’s arms to look back at Cosette, asking, “Mommy, where Chou Chou?”

“He’s in the backyard with Daddy,” Cosette responds just as Enjolras comes back inside, shutting the front door behind him. He goes to stand by Éponine, lips curving into a soft smile at the sight of her holding Georgie in her arms, almost like it’s second nature.

“We’re all set to go,” he murmurs to her. She looks up to meet his gaze, nodding in understanding.

“I’ll come with you, Georgie,” she tells him cheerfully, putting him down on the floor and taking his little hand. “I have to go get Ginger anyway.”

Enjolras, Cosette, and Fantine watch as Éponine takes Georgie out into the backyard, returning shortly thereafter with Ginger in tow. She turns to Cosette, saying, “Thank you so much again for the party, Coco. We’ll see you around.”

Cosette smiles as she puts an arm around her mother. “It was no problem, Panini.” The pair of them go out onto the front steps of the townhouse to watch Éponine putting Ginger in the backseat before claiming shotgun as Enjolras gets into the driver’s seat. A window rolls down and Éponine pokes her head out slightly, waving. A dimpled smile appears on her face when Cosette and Fantine wave back as Enjolras begins to drive.

It’s a largely uneventful drive back to their place in the Village, the pair of them remaining silent for the most part when Éponine isn’t absently singing along to Hozier, having plugged her phone into the car stereo. Enjolras carries the majority of her presents all the way up the stairs while she balances the rest in her arms, neither of them particularly keen on going back and forth since their apartment is on one of the top floors. They’ve just dumped the last of her birthday gifts at the foot of their bed when Ginger jumps into her bed on the window seat and curls up, falling asleep in almost no time at all.

Enjolras picks up a present, large and rectangular, and hands it over to Éponine. “Here’s mine,” he tells her softly, watching her face as she gets to work in tearing the wrapping paper off. Her entire face lights up with a smile when she tosses the last of the shiny red wrapping paper to the side, seeing a heart-shaped star map, the black heart sharply contrasting against the white background, in a white frame, the words “when it all started” inscribed above the map in capital letters.

“What’s this?” She runs her fingers over the glass, fascination in her dark eyes.

He smiles and puts his arm around her, pressing his lips to her temple in a tender kiss. “It’s how the sky looked when we first met,” he explains. “From that first day of kindergarten. I thought it would be nice to look back on how far we’ve come since then.”

She bites her lip and giggles as she leans her head against his shoulder, eyes growing rather glassy at how he always comes up with the most thoughtful gifts. God, she loves him so much, it almost hurts. “How do you come up with this shit?” she mumbles with a feeble little giggle.

She feels him shrug, a small laugh escaping him. “I won’t lie, it took a lot of Googling.”

He smiles at how she giggles again, sighing as she rather distractedly toys with her locket. A few moments of peaceful silence pass, and then he murmurs, “Hey, Nina?”

She hums in acknowledgement, her gaze still fixed on the custom star map. “Yeah?”

“You were rather quiet back then, on the way back.” His hand finds hers, weaving their fingers together. “What’s on your mind?”

He can sense her tense up for a split second there, drawing a deep breath. Eventually, she lifts her head from his shoulder to gaze into his eyes. “Let’s get married,” she blurts out. “Like, for real.” At the startled look on his face, she backtracks, hastily adding, “Only if you want to, obviously.”

She gazes at him expectantly, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Of all the things he expected to hear her say, that definitely wasn’t it. Not that it was unwelcome in any way. “Do you…” He swallows, composing himself. “Do you want to get married?”

She raises her eyebrows, almost teasing. “Do _you_?”

He lets out a breathless laugh, bowing his head and pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time now, Nina.” He closes the gap between them momentarily, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Her heart skips a beat.

“You—you have?” she asks when he draws back, rather shy all of a sudden.

He smiles, gazing at her like she hung the moon and stars. “Yes, I have.” Biting his lip, he says quietly, “I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

“I do,” she tells him, her voice soft, as she draws back to properly look him in the eye. “I want to marry you, Gabriel. I want to start a family with you.” She leans in until their foreheads touch, dimples in her cheeks as she smiles and lets out a little laugh. His eyes flutter shut, a smile playing at his lips as he laughs breathlessly.

“I should probably work on getting a ring, then,” he says, rather coy. He’s hidden the box containing his mother’s ring in the back of his underwear drawer. He’s fairly certain she’s unaware of it being there. At least, he hopes she is.

A corner of her mouth turns upwards in a slight smirk, pulling back and ruffling his hair. “Not if I get one first.”

He raises his eyebrows, lips twitching as he suppresses a smile. He vows then and there to be the first one to propose. So he should probably get to that _very_ soon if he wants to beat her to it. “You’re on.”

Unable to keep herself from grinning, she throws her arms around him and pulls him into a fervent kiss, laughing when they fall back onto the bed, him on top of her. “I love you,” she whispers.

She giggles when she feels him smile against her lips, readily kissing her back. Drawing back for a brief moment to gaze into her eyes, the look on his face utterly reverent, he murmurs tenderly, “I love you, too.”

* * *

Enjolras keeps stealing glances at the wall clock, trying to calculate when he and Éponine should leave for Central Park so they’ll have enough time to take Ginger on a proper walk as well as reach the Shakespeare Garden at around three, as they watch _Up_. There are only a few minutes left of the movie and she tears up at Carl giving Russell the Ellie badge, rolling her locket between her thumb and index finger and holding Ginger closer to her as she sniffles and lays her head on Enjolras’ shoulder, curling into him. He slides an arm around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head as the movie nears its end. He’s still thinking about when they should leave the apartment. The subway ride from the Village to Central Park takes about twenty minutes.

When the credits roll, Enjolras almost immediately asks, “Do you want to go out?”

Éponine lifts her head from his shoulder to scrunch up her face at him, lips forming a bit of a questioning smile. “Where would we go?”

He shrugs, maintaining an air of nonchalance as he gives her a small smile. “Central Park? It’s been some time.”

She purses her lips, looking down at Ginger, who’s gazing intently at her. Letting out a quiet laugh, she nods in agreement. “Alright, then. It’s been a couple of days since we took this little baby on a walk. I’ll go get dressed.”

“Alright, then.” He watches as she gets to her feet and disappears down the hall to their bedroom, Ginger at her heels. Standing up, he goes to use the bathroom, waiting for her to finish getting dressed so he can slip into their room and take out the ring without her knowing while he gets dressed himself. She emerges after a bit, clad in her trusty leather jacket with the zillion enamel pins on the lapels, a _Hadestown_ T-shirt, and dark jeans, with Ginger in her arms, wearing a little grey cable-knit sweater.

“I’ll meet you at the door,” Enjolras tells her. Éponine nods, putting Ginger down on the floor before the pair of them traipse off to the foyer.

Quickly, Enjolras gets dressed, slipping the ring box into the pocket of his denim jacket and triple-checking to make sure it isn’t too noticeable as he goes out into the foyer, lacing up his shoes as Éponine stands there, Ginger having been wrestled into her pink leash, already ready to go. He steals a glance at her shoes. There’s something rather funny about the contrast of his pristine red Chucks and her ratty black ones.

Éponine takes Enjolras’ hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, let’s take our baby out on a walk.”

He laughs, rolling his eyes, though something inside him grows warm at how she refers to Ginger as their baby. In some ways, she kind of is. Their little fur baby. “Come on, then.”

Almost half an hour later, they’re strolling leisurely through Central Park, Enjolras periodically checking his watch for the time and, at one point, texting Combeferre and Feuilly to get an idea of where they are now. Ginger trots along gaily a few feet ahead of them, Éponine barely able to keep her from chasing after the butterflies they encounter every now and then. Enjolras can only hope she’ll stay still when he proposes to Éponine.

They meander along the pathways with no particular destination in mind, at least as far as Éponine knows. Enjolras has mapped out a path to the Shakespeare Garden in his mind, making it so that it seems spontaneous rather than planned to the last detail. The garden is almost always rather secluded as opposed to other parts of the park. The perfect spot for a private proposal. If one doesn’t count Combeferre and Feuilly hiding among the plants to capture the moment from a distance.

“You okay?” Enjolras startles a little at the sound of Éponine’s voice, turning his head to look at her. She cocks her head, something akin to concern in her dark eyes. “No offence, but you seem kind of tense.”

He musters a smile. “I’m fine,” he assures her, giving her hand a squeeze. “I promise. Everything’s fine.”

Her eyebrows furrow, a quizzical smile forming on her lips. “Sounds like something someone would say when everything _isn’t_ fine.”

He rolls his eyes, lightly nudging her. “Everything’s _fine_ , I _swear_. Seriously.”

She throws her head back and laughs so loudly, a flock of birds explode out of a nearby tree, spooked by the sudden noise. “You’re not really helping your case, you know?” At the look on his face, she giggles and reaches up to boop his nose. “Relax, Gabe. I’m fucking with you.”

Once again, he rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath. “I know, Nina.”

It’s around ten minutes past three when they find themselves among the flowers in the Shakespeare Garden, everything vibrant and lush and bursting with life all around them. They seem to be the only ones there, Enjolras notices. At least those that are in plain sight. Good. He knows Éponine wouldn’t be a fan of being proposed to in front of strangers. Combeferre’s texted him the exact location of where he and Feuilly are hiding. He reaches into his pocket to make sure the ring box is still there. It is.

“Why did you stop?” Éponine asks in confusion, letting go of Enjolras’ hand to face him. Ginger sits on the ground beside her when she lets her leash fall to the ground, wagging her tail as she looks up at Enjolras almost expectantly. He sucks in a deep breath. This is it.

“I love you, you know?” he tells her, cringing a little at how his voice comes out an octave higher than it usually is. He gathers himself, drawing another deep breath.

She scrunches up her face, eyebrows creased, a bit of a bewildered smile on her face. “Yeah, I know. I love you, too. But what brought this on?”

“Well, remember when we were talking on your birthday a couple of weeks ago?” he says. She nods rather slowly. “About marriage?”

“I remember,” she murmurs, her smile broadening, lighting up her face. Dimples appear in her cheeks.

“Well…” Enjolras gets down on one knee, taking the ring box out of his pocket and opening it. Éponine gasps, one hand flying to cover her mouth, the initial astonishment on her face soon making way for utter joy.

“Nina,” he starts.

She immediately opens her mouth to say yes before he even really says anything, but before the word can slip out of her mouth, he says firmly, “No, don’t say anything yet, I prepared an entire speech and I spent so much time practising it on Ginger and I am not going to let it go to waste now.”

She laughs and relents with a nod, though she urges, “Okay, fine, get on with it, then.”

He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “ _Alright._ ” He takes yet another deep breath, collecting himself, preparing himself. He steals a quick glance at Ginger and could swear that the look in her eyes is telling him to hurry up. “Nina,” he says again at last, “I love you. I don’t think there’s a sufficient amount of words in the dictionary to even come close to describing how much I love you. You’re the love of my life. But more importantly, you’re my best friend. I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I’d never known you; every day, I feel so incredibly lucky and grateful to have had you in my life for almost the past twenty-three years.”

She giggles, her eyes beginning to grow rather glassy. “Gabriel…”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re a pain in the ass and you drive me crazy half the time,” he goes on, unable to resist a smile at the playfully indignant look that crosses her face. “You don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to making good decisions.”

“Okay, now you’re ruining it,” she interjects, crossing her arms across her chest and giving him a _look_.

“Jesus, Nina, let me _finish_ ,” he retorts with a wry laugh, rolling his eyes once again. “I know that with the good comes the bad, and we both know there’s been a _lot_ of the latter. I mean, I can still remember how you ate an entire sheet of cookie dough and vomited all over my new shoes back when we were in the third grade. Or that night we skipped junior prom and got ourselves into a nightclub using our fake IDs and got so drunk, it was a miracle we didn’t get alcohol poisoning. Or, dear God, the time we got stoned on pot brownies, and when I got high, I just cried about how my mom will die.”

“Still ruining it,” she says again, though this time, there’s something of a teasing smirk on her face.

He sighs and lets out an almost exasperated laugh. “My point _is_ , we’ve been through a _lot_ together. In the past twenty-three years, almost, we’ve both seen each other at our literal worst so many times, I’ve lost count.” The look on his face softens then, blue eyes shining. “And yet…”

Her smirk morphs into a little smile as she rapidly blinks her tears away, echoing, “And yet.”

He breathes out a laugh. “Nina, you’re… you’re my _everything_. The most extraordinary person I know. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Hell, I can’t even _remember_ a time when you weren’t in it. We’ve been through so much together. The good _and_ the bad. Except for most of those four years we were in college, I’ve spent practically every single day since I was five years old with you, and I want nothing more than to spend all the rest of the days of my life with you, too.”

He pauses and sharply inhales, waits a few moments before exhaling deeply, his blue eyes on her brown. His lips curve into a fond smile as he asks, “Éponine Thénardier, will you marry me?”

She’s openly crying now, at this point having given up on trying to blink away her tears, nodding fiercely. “ _Yes_ , Gabriel,” she chokes out, half-crying, half-laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” And then, because it’s Éponine and she feels like her words are incomplete without it, she adds, “Asshole.”

He laughs as he takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto her ring finger, overjoyed to find that it’s a perfect fit. Just as predicted. As he gets back to his feet, she brings her left hand closer to her face in order to get a proper look at the ring and lets out a little gasp in recognition. “Holy shit, is this—” She laughs rather tearfully, still struggling to process it all. “Is this your mom’s ring?”

He smiles and nods, and she cries even harder, bringing her right hand up to cover her mouth, to stifle her strange little sob-laughs. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around him, pressing her lips to his in what’s probably the messiest kiss of their lives, her tear-stained face pressed to his, laughing and crying all at once as Ginger jumps up and down, her barks ringing through the air.

Neither of them know how much time has passed by the time they break apart, and Éponine lets out a small shriek of surprise at the unexpected sight of Combeferre and Feuilly emerging from their hiding spot. Upon seeing the camera in Feuilly’s hands, she looks up at Enjolras with a faux-accusing look, not quite able to hide her smile, as he slides his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“You two were in on this the whole time, weren’t you?” she asks, picking up Ginger’s leash and looping the end of it around her wrist once again.

Combeferre smiles, rather sheepish. “Guilty.”

“I got the exact moment you realised we were there,” Feuilly tells them, holding the camera out to show them a photograph of Éponine mid-shriek and Enjolras grinning like a lovesick fool, their arms around each other. She laughs at the pleasantly surprised look on her face in the picture.

“Congratulations, you two!” Combeferre pulls Éponine into a hug, and she readily returns the embrace, laughing.

Feuilly laughs as he watches the three of them, stepping up to Éponine to go in for a hug once Combeferre has moved on to Enjolras and exclaiming, “Mazel tov!”

She laughs even more as she hugs him back, grinning so hard, her cheeks are starting to hurt. Once she’s detached herself from Feuilly, she picks Ginger up to hold her in her arms as she returns to Enjolras’ side, leaning into him when he puts an arm around her shoulders.

“We should probably get going,” he says. “Start wedding planning and getting the basics down and whatnot.”

Combeferre smiles, putting his camera away. “Of course.”

“We should meet up for coffee tomorrow, though!” Éponine suggests, putting Ginger back down on the ground after the dog attempted to make a treat out of her engagement ring. “Get everyone together at the Café Musain and break the news to them then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Feuilly says cheerfully. “We’ll see you two around, then.”

“See you around!” Éponine chirps as Combeferre and Feuilly depart, leaving her and Enjolras there with Ginger. She lifts her head to look up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

She smiles, giddy, dimples deep in her cheeks, and leans in to press her lips to his. “Let’s go home, Gabe.”

Try as he might, he can’t help but smile back into the kiss. “Come on.”

Once they get home and take off Ginger’s leash to let her do whatever she pleases around the apartment, Éponine wastes no time in grabbing Enjolras’ face and pulling him into a fierce kiss, jumping up to hook her legs around his waist, her hands moving to tangle her fingers in his hair. He kisses her back equally forcefully, purposefully, unable to resist a slight smirk at the high-pitched moan that sounds from the back of her throat when his teeth dig into her bottom lip.

She breaks away from him momentarily, panting hard, pupils blown. “Bedroom?”

He nods vehemently, his face flushed. “Yeah.”

She jumps down only to let out a surprised squeal when he scoops her up with such ease, it’s almost unfair. Not quite able to quell her giggles, she buries her face in his shoulder as he carries her to their bedroom, a mischievous grin on her face when they fall into bed and she pulls him on top of her. Smirking, he leans down to capture her lips in a kiss once more. As far as either of them are concerned, at that very moment, nothing else in the world exists but each other.

Afterwards, Éponine curls up against Enjolras’ chest, the pair of them covered in a light sheen of sweat, listening to his heartbeat as he presses kisses to the top of her head, stroking her hair. The late afternoon sun bathes their bedroom in golden light, shadows dancing along the walls. She sighs, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone and gazing at her ring, watching how the light catches in the opal and makes it shine a million different colours.

“When did you get this?” she asks.

“My father gave me a letter my mother wrote me sometime before she died along with her ring about a week after I turned twenty-seven,” he replies softly. “She wanted me to have the ring, her letter said. All but outright told me to propose to you with it.”

She laughs, looking up to meet his gaze, a smile on her lips. “Even she knew, huh?”

He chuckles, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Yeah, I suppose she did.”

“Well, I always loved looking at your mom’s ring. I mean, I always wanted to be proposed to with one like it, but I never thought I’d get the _actual_ thing.” Letting out a small giggle, she rests her chin on his sternum, brown eyes gazing into blue. “My fiancé. My future husband.” She grins at him, dimples in her cheeks. “Just in time for our ten-year high school reunion. I’ll get to parade you around as my _fiancé_.”

He laughs. “I doubt anyone there will be surprised to find out.”

She giggles again before falling deep in thought, biting down on her lip. “Is it bad that I want to take your name?”

His smile morphs into a bit of a frown, rather quizzical. “Why would that be a bad thing?”

“Because a lot of people view it as anti-feminist. But I want to get rid of the name Thénardier. I mean,” she scoffs a little with a slight roll of her eyes and lets out a wry laugh, “my siblings and I haven’t been in touch with our parents for years now. I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I’d finally get rid of all that baggage by changing my name. But I don’t want people to think I’m ‘bowing down to the patriarchy’ or whatever.”

His eyebrows furrow, absolutely flabbergasted by how much thought she’s put into this. “It would be the patriarchy either way, wouldn’t it?” he points out. “Your maiden name is still your _father’s_ surname.”

“Huh.” She laughs a bit, quietly, like the thought has never occurred to her before. “I guess you’re right.”

“And there’s no love lost between the two of you.” He leans forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s a personal choice. If you think changing your name is the best choice for you, then go right ahead.”

Her lips form a little smile, affectionate, bright. “I’m going to be Mrs. Éponine Amélie Enjolras, then.”

He feels like his heart might burst upon hearing her say that, smiling as she moves upwards slightly to press her lips to his, kissing him tenderly. “I love you,” he murmurs.

She smiles into the kiss. “I love you, too.”

A few moments of silence pass between them once she lays her head on his chest again, curling into him as he holds her in his arms. Then, “So what’s the plan for tomorrow? I was thinking we could call your dad and give him the news in the morning before we go get coffee with the others and tell them then.”

“That sounds good,” he agrees softly, almost absent-minded as he twirls a lock of her dark brown hair around his finger. “When do you want to get married? Obviously, we don’t have to start planning the wedding right away, but we should get a general idea of when it’ll be.”

“Next summer, maybe?” she suggests, looking up at him. “Maybe sometime in June. That gives us a little over a year to plan. That’s enough time to get everything just right, right?”

“Yes, I think so.” He kisses her forehead, feeling her giggle. “It sounds perfect.” She scoots up a little to kiss him again, and try as he might, he can’t help but smile against her lips. “My fiancée. My wife-to-be.”

She giggles, pulling away soon after and settling in again to snuggle up to him as she uses his chest as a pillow and takes his hand in hers, gazing at the matching tattoos on their inner wrists. Several blissful, serene moments of quiet pass between them, and then she starts to laugh. He smiles a little questioningly. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Can you even _imagine_ what we would’ve thought in high school if we’d known that we’d end up here in ten years?” she says with another laugh.

“You mean before I realised I was in love with you at senior prom?” He grimaces a little before he starts laughing as well. “Don’t even go there. My high school self wouldn’t even let me _think_ about anything that goes further than holding hands with you or kisses on any part of the face that isn’t the lips.” After a pause, he adds rather thoughtfully, “In hindsight, that was probably the result of me majorly repressing my feelings. That might have been why I was so overwhelmed when I finally did realise it at prom. But even still, high school me probably would have been horrified to know about the things we just did. But also weirdly turned on, because you know how most teenage boys are. Even I’ve never been entirely immune.”

Then they’re both laughing too hard to speak for a hot minute there, but eventually Éponine manages to get her cackles under control enough to say, “Honestly, I never really considered it because we’ve been best friends since we were _five_ and it would’ve been weird, but I guess _way_ in the back of my mind I always put you in the ‘would bang’ category. Or at least I did starting in junior year.” She grins and looks up to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his. “When you came home from France without having the courtesy to mention to any of us beforehand that you got _hot_ over the summer.”

Enjolras chuckles and rolls his eyes. “I remember you mentioning it to me a few times.” He remembers being flustered pretty badly every time she did.

“And then people started paying more attention to you because of your looks. Like, who the fuck knew what a difference a growth spurt and getting your braces off and growing out your hair a bit would make?” She laughs, listening to his heartbeat as she rests her head on his chest. “And then you filled out in senior year and got even taller. And you know how people just _love_ guys who are six foot or taller.”

He laughs, his cheeks growing warm. “So you thought I was hot for the last half of high school?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, feigning haughtiness. “Only objectively speaking, _obviously_.”

“Right. Of course.” She can _hear_ the slight smirk in his voice.

Rolling her eyes again and playfully shoving him, she asks, “Did you ever think _I_ was hot?”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile, and he presses an affectionate kiss to the top of her head. “I never really consciously noticed that I thought you were hot prior to our senior prom,” he says. “At first after I realised I was in love with you, I tried to get over you because I thought you would never reciprocate my feelings, but after a few years, I eventually gave up. I suppose that’s why I was never really one for dating. Nobody could ever compare to you.”

Her breath catches. A small lump forms in her throat at his words as she mumbles, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That _thing_. Y’know, when we’re joking around and being idiots and shit, and then you go and say something unbelievably sweet.”

He smiles, nuzzling her hair. “Well, you’ve always brought out the best in me.”

She looks up to meet his gaze, raising her eyebrows. “I’m not sure I believe that. You’ve called me a bad influence so many times, I’ve lost count.”

He laughs rather wryly. “Alright, then, you’ve been a bad influence on a few occasions, but the good times outnumber the bad.”

She wrinkles her nose, still rather sceptical. “Still not sure I believe that, babe. But A for effort, right?”

He just rolls his eyes, fond, exasperated, laughing again under his breath. Holding her closer, he murmurs again, “I love you.”

She smiles, a real smile, and leans up to press her lips to his in a chaste kiss. Her voice is hardly above a whisper when she responds. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay!!
> 
> [the engagement ring](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0011/3967/1084/products/il_fullxfull.1639593973_4rm5_0c00cc54-aafb-4315-83a7-f7be4da82619_1800x1800.jpg?v=1575460597).
> 
> on a more serious note, if you're a united states citizen and are of voting age, please for the love of _god_ vote for biden/harris in this upcoming election. i am begging you. yes! they suck! but you just _cannot_ compare them to a _literal fascist_!!! fuck. it isn't about whether you agree with biden or not at this point, it's about preserving democracy. and the us has a greater impact on the rest of the world than you might realise. please for the love of god just fucking _vote_. it's what enjolras (and aaron tveit) (no seriously. the guy's barely on social media but has recently taken to encouraging people to vote through his ig stories. king shit) would want you to do. do it for him (them), if no one else.


	26. a real wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took them well over two decades, but they finally ( _finally_ ) tie the knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! it's been almost six months since i posted the first chapter of this fic (and over two decades in-universe lmao), but we're finally here!
> 
> this is another beast of a chapter. about 11k. i can't seem to help myself when it comes to writing weddings 🥴 but i think i really popped off with this one lol. i do hope y'all enjoy!!

* * *

Éponine sucks in a deep breath as she stares at herself in the mirror and pinches herself to make sure this isn’t all just a vivid dream that she’ll wake up from at any moment, her nerves multiplying tenfold when she opens her eyes and finds that nothing has changed.

Which means this is all real.

This is it. The day’s finally here.

She scrutinises herself in the mirror, hardly able to recognise herself, with her spectacularly done makeup, understated for the most part except for the bold red lip. She reaches up to brush her fingers against the opal studs in her ears before her hand goes to toy with her locket as she tends to do whenever she’s nervous. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this nervous before.

Turning to and fro in front of the mirror, her gown swishing and flowing around her legs, she carefully examines herself. Her deep brown hair in a half-updo, drawn back from her face by a crystal floral hairpiece and cascading down her shoulders in soft curls. Her duchesse satin gown, off-shoulder, with its sweetheart neckline, pleated crossover bodice, draped sleeves, and beaded belt, the full, double box–pleated skirt flowing into an elegant court train, the pure white colour contrasting against her olive complexion. The dainty peep-toe kitten heels, white satin, with its half d’Orsay silhouette. Éponine slides her hands down the skirt of her gown and catches herself grinning. The dress has pockets.

She notices Grantaire behind her, clearly trying to be stealthy and thoroughly failing. Still facing the mirror, she snorts, rolling her eyes. “You know I can see you, right?”

He laughs, self-deprecating, and goes to stand next to her. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Éponine shakes her head, a little grin playing at her lips as she looks him up and down in the mirror. “Red isn’t really your colour,” she remarks. “No offence.”

Grantaire makes a face, looking down at his crimson suit. “Why the fuck did you make us wear red, then?”

“I didn’t realise you’d be the one person on my side who doesn’t look good in red,” she snarks in response. He snorts, elbowing her.

“Fuck you, I look hot,” he retorts, attempting to straighten out his black tie.

She laughs, long, low, wry. “Maybe if you shave.” She turns to him, looking up to meet his blue eyes and reaching up to run her fingers over his short, scruffy beard. “Hey, why don’t you go do that now? We’ve still got, like, half an hour before the ceremony starts.”

He swats her hand away, rolling his eyes with a sardonic laugh. “You suck.”

“Actually, I blow,” she quips. “But you already know that.”

She cackles at the exasperated look he shoots her way, reaching up to ruffle his unruly black curls—she doesn’t think he even _tried_ to tame it—before she turns back to face the mirror, looking herself up and down and breathing deeply. “This is really happening, huh? I’m getting hitched.”

“Yup.” Grantaire pops the ‘P’. He slides an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t believe I’ve fucked you both and now you two are getting _married_.” He pretends to wipe a tear off his cheek. “I feel so honoured to have been a footnote in your love story.”

“If you’re planning on mentioning that in your toast, I think now’s a good time to bring up the fact that I definitely know how to hide a dead body,” Éponine informs him, flashing him a deceptively sweet smile. Grantaire snorts.

“Calm down, sugar tits, I wasn’t going to,” he assures her rather obnoxiously, rolling his eyes. “You know, after he and I fucked, he just sort of lay there in bed rambling about you. How in love with you he is, but he didn’t want to say anything because he was afraid it’d ruin your friendship if you didn’t reciprocate his feelings and he didn’t think he’d be able to handle that since you two have been besties practically your whole lives and he can’t remember a time when he didn’t have you in his life.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes_ , really. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you. I got a fucking headache because of it.”

“I think that was more of the alcohol’s fault, babe.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyway, I gave him some advice, but I don’t think he ever took it. Sucks.”

“Nobody in their right mind would take advice from you, R. Especially not your drunk advice.”

“Fuck off! _Anyway_ , I gotta say, Gabe’s _definitely_ an upgrade from Monty Python. Just saying.”

Éponine laughs out loud. “He always hated it when you called him that.”

Grantaire just grins. “Yeah, why do you think I did it?”

Their gazes return to the mirror and for a good few moments there, they just stare, their reflections staring right back. And then, out of the blue, “Hey, would you two ever consider a threesome? Because I definitely wouldn’t mind. Y’know. Just saying.” Cue the suggestive eyebrow wiggle. An outrageously cocky smirk soon follows.

Éponine just snorts and gives a shrug. “I’m all for it,” she says, nonchalant. “I’d have to talk to Gabe about it first, though.”

Really, at the rate he’s going, Grantaire’s eyes are going to roll right off his face. “You’re the most annoying little shit I’ve ever met, you know that?”

She grins at him, all sweet. “Aww, I love you, too.”

Just then, the door of her dressing room opens and in come Cosette and Bahorel, the former letting out a squeal at the sight of Éponine and waking Ginger. The dog lifts her head up from her spot on one of the plush dressing-room chairs as Cosette rushes over to Éponine, tackling her in a hug.

“Panini! You look perfect!” she gushes, drawing back to look her up and down. Éponine takes in the sight of her, with her blonde hair done up in a braided chignon and her flowing crimson chiffon sweetheart dress, a pair of strappy silver wedges boosting her height. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs, rolling her locket between her thumb and forefinger. “Terrified. Impatient. Excited. Where’s Georgie?”

“He’s with Marius,” Cosette chirps, momentarily turning around when they hear the door open again. Azelma and Gavroche enter.

“He knows what he’s supposed to do, right?” Éponine asks rather anxiously.

Cosette laughs, nodding in reassurance. “Of course he does. He’s very excited about being Auntie Nini and Uncle Gabe’s flower boy.”

A bit of the weight lifts off Éponine’s shoulders at Cosette’s words, and she laughs a little as Bahorel approaches, holding Ginger in his arms. He’s somehow managed to put a wreath of flowers around her little neck, tying the little cushion with the decoy rings onto it.

“Well, this is it.” He grins from ear to ear, bouncing Ginger a little. “Not gonna lie, sometimes I still can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can,” Azelma says, patting her updo to make sure it’s still in place. She beams, throwing her arms around her sister. “You’re getting married! Holy shit!”

Éponine laughs out loud. “Holy shit, indeed.”

“You look fantastic, by the way,” Bahorel praises, approving. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Éponine rolls her eyes and laughs again, punching him in the shoulder. “Um, _yeah_ , I’d hope so. It _is_ my wedding day, after all.”

“Your _real_ wedding this time,” Cosette makes a point of adding.

Éponine sighs and laughs, shaking her head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Cosette only smiles earnestly and shakes her head in response as the door opens yet again, Musichetta waltzing inside. “Fifteen minutes until the ceremony, people,” she announces, beaming when her gaze lands on Éponine. “You look amazing!”

“Thank you!” Éponine laughs, twirling around once and feeling how the skirt swishes around her legs. “I don’t really feel like myself, though. But thank you.”

She goes to sit in front of her vanity alone, occasionally stealing glances at the others talking amongst themselves and cooing over Ginger, who basks in all the attention. She picks up her phone, gazing at the candid of Enjolras and Ginger she took one morning and promptly set as her lock-screen before she glances at the time. Fifteen, no, fourteen minutes until five o’clock now. Fourteen minutes until it’s go time. She inhales sharply. It’s still hard to believe this is actually happening.

Five minutes before the ceremony starts, Cosette notices Éponine pacing back and forth by the windows, anxiously fidgeting with her locket and muttering to herself. Looking around, she realises how they’re the only ones left in the dressing room; the others must have gone out already, to prepare for the procession. Concern crossing her face, she darts up to her, taking her hand. “Are you okay?” she asks sympathetically as blue eyes meet brown.

Éponine shrugs, bowing her head and biting down on her bottom lip. “Were you this nervous when _you_ got married?”

Cosette lets out a small, rather sheepish giggle. “Don’t you remember? I threw up twice.”

That garners a little laugh from Éponine, reassuring her somewhat. “Am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating.”

Cosette gives her hand a squeeze, soothing, encouraging. “Hey. Panini. Éponine. Pre-wedding jitters are totally normal. But you have _nothing_ to worry about, I promise.” She looks her in the eye once again. “You’ve known Gabriel for twenty-four years now. He’s been your best friend in the whole entire universe since you were _five_ , remember? Your _best_ best friend. You love each other. You know you’ll have each other’s back no matter what. I mean, he’s punched a couple of people in the face for you, hasn’t he?”

Éponine laughs for real at that, finding the weight on her shoulders considerably lighter. Cosette smiles and reiterates, “You have nothing to worry about, Éponine. Not to sound like an obnoxious Instagram caption, but you really _are_ marrying your best friend.” Éponine snorts. Cosette lets out a laugh and emphasises, “You’re perfect for each other. You balance each other out. You always have.”

She reaches up to cup Éponine’s face in her hands, blue eyes gentle. “It’s time now. You ready?”

Éponine steals another glance at herself in the mirror before she slowly nods, her confidence growing. Cosette squeals in delight.

“Okay!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you married!”

Éponine laughs. “Let’s get me married.”

She picks up her bouquet off the vanity and follows Cosette out of her dressing room, gazing at the arrangement of flowers in her hands. Roses and sunflowers. She smiles to herself. She remembers the first time she visited Enjolras in California back they were in college, and he greeted her at the airport with a bouquet of sunflowers. They’ve always been her favourite.

She watches the others fussing over each other, much of them scrambling to get into place for the procession while a few usher the last of the guests to their seats. Gavroche holds Ginger in his arms, kneeling down to allow Georgie a look before Cosette pulls the little boy aside, crouching down to his level and handing him his basket. “Remember, best behaviour, okay, buddy? It’s your Auntie Nini and Uncle Gabe’s big day.”

Éponine watches with a smile as Georgie nods dutifully, hazel eyes wide. She stiffens a little when his gaze lands on her, his wide eyes growing even wider. “Auntie Nini looks like a princess!”

Cosette laughs, looking up at her. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Éponine’s cheeks grow warm as she fidgets with her locket, mustering a smile in response. Eventually, Cosette moves on to the others and Éponine just stands there, forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds when the opening notes of a familiar song play on a piano, signalling that the ceremony has begun. Even though whoever is playing has forgone the lyrics, Enjolras has played it and sung it to her so many times, they’re permanently ingrained into her mind.

_It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside  
_ _I’m not one of those who can easily hide_

She catches herself smiling, thinking of all the times she and Enjolras have gotten wine drunk and danced around their living room to the Ewan McGregor version. She can still remember the one time she spun around and around with her arms outstretched to the point where she scared him half to death when she lost her footing and tumbled to the floor, ending up on her back with her eyes trained on the ceiling, the whole world spinning. And she realises she’s got nothing to be afraid of.

On the contrary, it feels like everything is falling into place.

This is it. It’s really happening.

She’s getting fucking _married_.

* * *

Enjolras takes a deep breath as he stares at himself in the mirror, attempting to straighten out his tie. His heart pounds so hard, it’s a wonder it doesn’t burst out of his chest, he thinks as he gazes at himself. Navy-blue tie, burgundy three-piece suit, sunflower boutonnière, black leather Oxfords. Golden curls immaculate. Blue eyes bright. He doesn’t feel much like himself.

He startles a little when Matthieu walks up to him, the two of them standing side by side before the mirror. Enjolras takes in the sight of his father dressed in a black suit with a matching bow-tie, his greying blond hair combed back. Matthieu puts an arm around his son, a small, rather teary-eyed smile on his face.

“Well, this is it,” he says, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “My son is finally getting married.”

Enjolras lets out a low laugh, his nerves dissipating somewhat. “I’m twenty-nine, Dad. So I don’t know about _finally_. Most people of my generation are getting married in their thirties.”

“Well, you’re approaching your thirties,” Matthieu points out, dropping his arm from around Enjolras’ shoulders to adjust his bow-tie. “You’re turning thirty in four months. And you’re my only child. So this is the one and only time I’ll ever get to experience this. And considering how you’ve known Éponine for almost your entire life, all this very well could have happened sooner.” He lightly bumps his shoulder against Enjolras’. “You know, when you two came over about two years ago and told me you were a couple now, it was all I could do not to ask when the wedding was.”

Enjolras chuckles and smiles a little wistfully. They hadn’t so much told Matthieu as he had walked in on them making out in the kitchen upon his return from a bathroom break and promptly got the truth out of them after much talking around the topic. “I wish Mom were here,” he murmurs, still fidgeting a little with his tie. He just can’t seem to get it right. Which is _weird_ , considering how he wears a tie on a near-daily basis for work. Perhaps it’s because of how on edge he is.

“Here, let me get that.” Matthieu turns to face him, expertly straightening out Enjolras’ tie and placing a hand on his shoulder afterwards. He manages a sad little smile. “I wish she were here too,” he says quietly. “I know she would be so, so proud of you.”

Enjolras bites his lip, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Matthieu turns back to face the mirror, Enjolras doing the same. He smiles, hands in his pockets. “Do you remember your first day of kindergarten? When you introduced Éponine to your mother and me at the end of the day?”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth turns up and he nods. “I don’t think I could ever forget.”

“It was only your first day and you two were already inseparable.” Matthieu chuckles, shaking his head as he glances sideways at Enjolras. “You know, at the time, I thought the two of you would be ‘best friends’ for maybe a week, two weeks at the most.” He returns his gaze to the mirror, to Enjolras, and smiles. “And now here we are twenty-four years later.”

Enjolras musters a smile, readjusting his boutonnière. “Were you ever this nervous on your own wedding day?”

“Oh, I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep at all the night before,” Matthieu tells him with a slight laugh. “I downed three cans of Red Bull the next day to keep myself awake. But it turned out I had nothing to worry about in the end. Well,” he pauses for a moment and laughs a little, shaking his head, “I did accidentally mispronounce ‘lawfully’ as ‘waffly’, but your mother got a pretty big kick out of that. She laughed for at least three minutes straight. She was laughing so hard, I genuinely thought she might collapse at one point.”

Enjolras laughs, his anxiety levels lowering, even if it’s only slightly. “You’ve never told me that before.”

Matthieu chuckles. “I thought I’d save it for your wedding day. To help calm your nerves.”

Enjolras bows his head, smiling to himself, before he looks back up at his father. “Thanks, Dad.”

Matthieu smiles and nods, checking his watch for the time. “Well, I should get going,” he says, looking back up to meet his son’s eyes and tearing up a little. “I’m so happy for you, Gabriel. Knock ’em dead.”

He pulls Enjolras in for a quick hug before making his way out of the dressing room, exiting at about the same time Combeferre and Courfeyrac enter. Courfeyrac’s eyes widen nearly to the size of saucers at the sight of Enjolras, and he whistles appreciatively. “You look hot!” he calls out, quickly making his way over. “Like a five-course meal.”

Enjolras laughs, the breath knocked out of him slightly by Courfeyrac throwing his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, pinning Enjolras’ arms to his sides. Jesus, for someone quite a bit smaller than him, he sure can squeeze the breath out of a person. “Thank you?”

Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac back, the pair of them standing side by side as they look Enjolras up and down. Eventually, Courfeyrac grins and gives him a double thumbs-up. Combeferre positively beams.

“We’ve got ten minutes until the start of the ceremony,” he informs Enjolras. “The last guests are arriving and being seated.”

“How do you feel?” Courfeyrac questions, straightening out his boutonnière.

Enjolras musters a smile, small but genuine. “Anxious. Excited.” He sighs, rubbing the tattoo on his right inner wrist. “I just want to see Nina.”

“And you’ll see her soon,” Combeferre promises.

Enjolras laughs a little at the memory of something she said that morning, moments after they woke up and he reminded her of how they’re getting married today. “She told me that if I don’t cry when she walks down the aisle, she’ll kick me in the shin until I shed at least one tear.”

Combeferre snorts. Courfeyrac throws his head back and cackles, remarking once he’s gotten his laughter under control, “Yeah, that sounds like something she’d say.”

Feuilly pokes his head in then, searching the room before his eyes land on the three of them. “Oh, there you are!” He approaches them, beaming at Enjolras. “You ready?”

Enjolras shrugs, returning Feuilly’s smile with one of his own. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Whooping enthusiastically, Courfeyrac throws his hands up in the air. “Group hug!”

Afterwards, Feuilly and Courfeyrac exit the room to prepare, leaving Enjolras alone with Combeferre. “Do you have the rings?” Enjolras asks, biting his lip apprehensively.

Combeferre takes the small box out of his pocket. “Right here.”

The two of them turn to the mirror, staring at themselves. Enjolras in burgundy, Combeferre in dark grey. Enjolras twiddles his thumbs, restless. “I’m afraid, Julien.”

Combeferre reaches out and pats Enjolras on the back, encouraging, reassuring. “Don’t be,” he says. “You’re marrying Éponine. You know, your best friend in the entire universe since you were five years old and the love of your life. She’s one of the best damn people we know.”

The corners of Enjolras’ mouth turn up in a soft smile. “Yeah, she is.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you two love each other, right?” Enjolras nods. If there’s one thing he’s absolutely certain of, it’s that. “So let’s get out there and go get you married,” Combeferre tells him with a smile, putting his arm around Enjolras in a quick side hug before he makes his way to the door, Enjolras close behind. He takes a deep breath as he steps out of his dressing room. In, out.

He’s got this.

By the time the clock strikes five, all the guests have been seated and Courfeyrac has already taken his place up at the front just as the music starts up, soft and serene. Enjolras takes that as his cue and enters from the side, soon followed by Combeferre. He takes a moment to look around at his surroundings, rather awed by the place. He wonders how on earth they were lucky enough to have snagged such a beautiful venue high above Fifth Avenue, with its 360-degree views and enormous Palladian windows, more window than wall. He caught a glimpse of the Empire State Building through the window directly behind Courfeyrac earlier on his way in.

He doesn’t know how he manages to stand still as the wedding party make their way down the aisle one by one, first the ones on his side and then the others on Éponine’s side. Azelma and Cosette walk arm in arm, maid and matron of honour, taking their places on the left side. Enjolras catches himself smiling when Ginger trots down the aisle, tail wagging, tongue sticking out, the decoy rings attached to the cushion secured to the wreath of flowers around her neck. She sits down beside Combeferre’s feet as little Georgie traipses down the aisle, beaming and happily scattering flower petals. Once he’s found his seat next to Fantine, everyone rises to their feet.

When Éponine appears, Enjolras’ breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t think there are enough words in any human language to even come close to adequately describing how beautiful she looks at that very moment.

She meets his eyes and her lips form a tiny smile, dimples in her cheeks, a small giggle escaping her. He smiles back, his eyes beginning to sting from the oncoming tears as she makes her way down the aisle, solo. Her gaze is fixed on him the entire time and he makes no attempt to hide his tears, breathing out a tiny laugh in slight disbelief at the fact that this is really happening as a single tear falls from his eyelashes.

Éponine. His Nina. His best friend. His _bride_.

When she reaches the front, she takes a moment to hand her bouquet to Cosette before she turns to Enjolras, brown eyes rather glassy as they find his blue. “Hi,” she murmurs, a soft dimpled smile on her face.

He laughs, softly, breathlessly. “Hi.”

As they both turn to face him, Courfeyrac smiles, an actual genuine smile, which kind of throws the both of them off because they’re so used to his shit-eating grins and impish smirks. He opens his leather-bound folio and holds the microphone up to his face, making a big show out of clearing his throat. And then he opens his mouth.

“Mawage,” he declares in an overly nasally voice, and with those two syllables, he wastes no time in sending everyone into fits of laughter. Éponine rolls her eyes and snorts as Enjolras bites his lip to hold back the laugh that bubbles up in his throat. Courfeyrac grins one of his trademark grins, waiting for the laughter to die down. Once it does, he clears his throat once again and continues.

“Mawage is what bwings us togethah today…”

* * *

“And so by the power vested in me by the city of New York, it is my honour and absolute _delight_ to now pronounce you husband and wife.” Courfeyrac shuts his folio and looks up, a massive grin on his face. “You’re married! You may now kiss the bride!”

Éponine laughs and beams, so wide her cheeks hurt, and reaches up to hold Enjolras’ face in her hands as he does the same, standing on tiptoe to lean up at the same time he leans down, the two of them meeting in the middle. Ginger barks happily and cheers erupt from the wedding party and guests alike as their lips meet, and she giggles into the kiss, feeling his large hands cupping her face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek. He almost can’t kiss her, he’s smiling so hard.

They don’t know how much time has passed by the time they pull apart, and she giggles at the tears streaking his cheeks, reaching up to wipe away tears of her own. Her arms slide up to dangle around his neck, leaning in until their faces are mere inches apart. “Hello, my ex-boyfriend.”

He rolls his eyes, albeit good-naturedly, as his arms wind around her waist. “I hate you.”

She throws her head back and laughs so loud, it borders on a cackle. Leaning back in to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his, she grins. “Love you too, babe!”

The look on his face softens as he closes his eyes and smiles, leaning in to press his forehead to hers. “My wife.”

She giggles, closing her eyes and smiling as well. “My _husband_.”

Courfeyrac’s grin grows even wider, so huge it looks like it might split his face in half. “Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, for the very first time, I give you the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel and Éponine Enjolras!”

As the whoops and cheers and applause of their guests grow even louder, Éponine laughs and cries and kisses Enjolras again, neither of them ever wanting to let go. Cosette is giggling somewhere behind her, Azelma and Gavroche laughing as Grantaire and Bahorel whoop and holler, with all the others cheering so loudly, it’s damn near deafening, but Éponine tunes all of it out. She feels like she’s walking on air. There’s absolutely nothing in the world that can ever ruin this utterly perfect moment.

When they finally break apart, Ginger takes that opportunity to leap into Éponine’s arms, and she almost stumbles back a little, caught off-guard by the unexpectedness of it all. Laughing, she hugs Ginger as she moves so close to Enjolras there’s practically no space between them, the wedding photographers capturing the moment. Enjolras glances over at his father, the first thing he notices being the tears streaming down his face as he claps harder than anyone else, beaming. He smiles back at his father, nearly delirious in his euphoria.

Directly after the ceremony, the guests are ushered into the reception room for drinks and hors d’oeuvres while the ballroom is being set up for the reception proper. Éponine and Enjolras mill about with Ginger and the wedding party, taking photographs and just chatting between themselves. After they’ve tired themselves out taking pictures, Éponine takes off Ginger’s wreath of flowers to tie a bandana around her neck, grinning at the words stitched onto it. She hands Ginger over to Enjolras, who lets out a small laugh.

“Adorable,” he says, only half-joking, upon reading “my humans got hitched”, gold against onyx-black.

She laughs. “Cute, right? I ordered it online.”

Chuckling under his breath, he bows his head. He wonders if he’s ever been this unbelievably happy. He doesn’t think so. He’s come close, but his elation has never quite reached _this_ level. “This reminds me of your prom dress,” he comments softly as he gazes at her gown, running his hand over the top of her skirt before his hand goes to rest on her waistline.

She giggles and grins. “That was the idea, actually. God, that feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“How far we’ve come since then.” He smiles, gazing at her affectionately as he pets Ginger’s head, more out of habit than anything else. “I love you.”

Cheeks turning rather pink, she smiles back, just the tiniest bit flustered. “I know. I love you, too.”

Ginger barks then, and he laughs. “Yes, we love you as well, Ginger,” he assures her, kissing the top of her fluffy little head. Éponine can’t help but smile at the sight.

“We’re going to have to hand her off to the dog-sitter soon,” she murmurs, scratching behind Ginger’s ear.

“That’s alright.” He kisses the top of Ginger’s head again, a little smile on his face. “I’ll have you all to myself for the night. Well, most of the night,” he amends after a few seconds of thought, laughing softly. “You’ll probably end up dancing with some of the others for a bit.”

“You probably will too,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “But you’ll have me all to yourself for most of the night, like you said.” She smiles and nuzzles against his cheek, sighing. “And I’ll have you.”

His cheeks are almost starting to hurt, he hasn’t stopped smiling in God only knows how long now. “Right.”

The next hour or so is a bit of a blur, and next thing they know, they’re entering the ballroom to whoops and cheers and making their way onto the dance floor, taking a minute to soak in the thunderous applause. The chipper entrance music gradually transitions into something much slower. Their first dance as a married couple.

Éponine’s breath hitches momentarily when Enjolras takes her into his arms, gazing into her eyes so lovingly, she feels like her heart might burst. His lips form the tiniest smile as she giggles and leans in to lightly press her forehead against his, and they start to dance.

All eyes are on them, but it feels like they’re the only ones there, focused on nothing but each other as they dance, lost in their own little world. Spinning out, twirling around, never letting go. Briefly, he thinks about how he must look like a lovesick fool at this point, with how he can’t seem to stop smiling, but he can’t find it in himself to care. As she spins back into his arms, she smiles up at him, dimples in her cheeks, brown eyes soft. All those months spent learning the steps have greatly paid off. She giggles as she gazes at him, fondly, tenderly, and mouths along to the lyrics, evoking a light chuckle from him.

_My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue  
_ _All’s well that ends well to end up with you  
_ _Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover_

As the song reaches its end, the guests burst into applause once again and she grins as he leans in to close the gap between them, smiling against her lips. She giggles into the kiss, the guests’ applause fading into white noise in the background. Eventually, though, they find their table, and Enjolras clears his throat, raising his voice slightly.

“Everyone, please settle down!” he calls, and almost immediately, everybody quiets down, rapt as they stare at him. Éponine will never understand how he does that. It’s kind of hot, she thinks with a bit of a smirk, the way he can so easily command a room.

“We’d like to start off with the toasts, if that’s okay,” she says, sliding an arm around Enjolras’ waist and gazing up at him with a little smile. “Thank you all so much for coming! And thank you especially to our amazing wedding party, as well as Gabriel’s incredible dad Matthieu over there! Also, don’t worry, the other toasts will happen during dinner, so you’re not going to have to wait an insanely long time to eat, if that’s what you were wondering.”

At that, the guests titter. One table over, Grantaire snorts and makes a face. Éponine gives him a _look_. It takes a great amount of willpower to resist the urge to flip him off.

“We spent an awfully long time devising this speech,” Enjolras mentions, putting his arm around Éponine as well. “Really, it’s almost embarrassing how long it took for us to get it right.”

“It involved _several_ bottles of gin and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears,” she deadpans. Everyone laughs. “And it was originally a _lot_ swearier—at least, my parts were—until my dear sweet then-fiancé now-husband Gabe here reminded me that ‘there will be _children_ present!’”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes at her terrible impression of him, though his lips twitch as he suppresses a smile, the guests’ laughter filling the room. “So as you may have seen from the photographs on display,” he pauses to gesture towards the giant wooden board propped up against the edge of a window, upon which are countless photographs from the past two decades or so, “Nina and I have known each other for quite a long time.”

“Ain’t that the understatement of the century,” she quips, affecting an exaggerated Southern accent not unlike those of many of Enjolras’ relatives. “In fact, this isn’t the first time we’ve gotten married, right, Gabe?”

He laughs with a small shake of his head. “No, it isn’t. During a playdate back in the first grade, we were watching _The Princess Bride_ and Nina had the bright idea to stage a fake wedding just for the fun of it.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why Adrien quoted _The Princess Bride_ during the ceremony!” Bahorel interrupts from the table to their right, eyes wide, lips forming an ‘O’. He looks so proud of himself for making that connection. Éponine laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, exactly,” she says, nodding. “But do refrain from interrupting, Joseph. Anyway,” she returns to the subject at hand, “Adrien actually officiated that fake wedding twenty-two years ago as well as our actual wedding earlier today. And Julien was Gabriel’s best man back then, and Coco was my maid of honour. And yes, we made our actual wedding today resemble our fake wedding from when we were seven because let’s be real, the side-by-side comparisons are going to be hilarious. Except this time, I have a maid of honour in the form of my sister Azelma in addition to having Coco as my matron of honour.”

“We’ve provided photographic evidence of said fake wedding on the board over there in case anyone had any doubts,” Enjolras adds, rather wry in his delivery. Cue the laughs.

“Although honestly, I looked more like a nun than a bride,” Éponine remarks, recalling the two bed sheets she’d wrapped around herself, one around her torso and the other around her head.

Enjolras chuckles, kissing her temple. It garners them quite a lot of coos and sighs from their guests. “Yes, but the effort was clearly there.”

Éponine laughs, leaning into him. “We should probably get to talking about how we first met. _When_ we first met.”

“Right. Of course.” He nods, a bit of a sheepish smile on his face. It’s ridiculous how endearing it is. She beams as he clears his throat and continues. “Nina and I met during snacktime on the first day of kindergarten. In fact, our kindergarten teacher was actually Cosette’s lovely mother Fantine over there,” he says, gesturing to the woman in question, sitting a couple of tables over with Cosette, Marius, and Georgie. A few whoops sound from some of the guests.

“So she actually bore witness to that _historic_ moment when Gabriel, who up until then had been sitting alone, got up, invited me to sit with him, and offered me his juice box, and I asked him if he wanted to be my best friend immediately after we introduced ourselves to each other!” Éponine jokes, grinning at the laughs she evokes from the guests. “I’ve never been one to beat around the bush.”

“I said yes, of course.” Enjolras turns his head to gaze at her, a soft smile on his face. “And ever since then, we’ve been inseparable.”

“We did everything together,” she goes on, picking up where he left off. “Making new friends, trick-or-treating in coordinating costumes, getting our driver’s licences—can you believe he actually waited, what, six months for me to turn sixteen just so we could go take the driver’s ed test together? What a guy—skipping junior prom, attending _senior_ prom, getting arrested for fighting a cop… The list goes on. Also, in regards to that whole ‘getting arrested’ bit, no, I will not elaborate. _Anyway_ , like I said, we did everything together.”

She looks up and pretends to glare at him. “And then he _left_ me to go all the way to frickin’ _California_ for college while I stayed here in New York.”

“Which was entirely her fault, because she was the one who convinced me to choose Stanford in the first place,” he clarifies rather wryly. At that, everyone laughs out loud. “I could have attended college in New York, but she threatened to never speak to me again if I didn’t choose Stanford, and we couldn’t have _that_ , could we?”

“I wasn’t _actually_ being serious about that, you know,” she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear. He smiles and rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t taking any chances,” he responds under his breath. She snorts.

“So basically, that was just a super long-winded way of saying that we’ve been best friends since we were five,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Which is probably why it took me such a ridiculous amount of time to come to terms with the fact that at some point, my feelings for the boy who saw me and who I saw go through puberty shifted to the point where they were no longer entirely platonic.” She looks up at him, grinning. “He realised it sooner than I did, anyway. A little over two years sooner.”

A faint pink blush rises to his cheeks. “I did,” he admits. “We were slow dancing at our senior prom and it hit me then. But really, the fact that we each rejected a number of people just so we would be able to go with each other should have alerted me sooner about how I’d caught feelings.”

“I love how you describe falling for me like it’s a contagious disease,” she deadpans. He rolls his eyes again, chuckling under his breath as the guests erupt in laughter once more.

“It took us so many years to finally admit our feelings to each other,” he says, rather wistful. “In hindsight, I don’t know what took us so long.”

“Oh, it’s actually quite simple,” she pipes up, a sweet smile on her face. “We were stubborn and oblivious and all-around idiots.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs, kissing her temple again. “But the important thing is that we eventually got there in the end. There were quite a few bumps in the road along the way, but we got there in the end.” The look in his blue eyes turns sincere. “And now here we are.”

She smiles up at him, softening as well. “Here we are,” she echoes.

He smiles, feeling a bit of a lump forming in his throat. He swallows, composing himself. “Nina, you’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he tells her, his eyes growing glassy, ever so slightly. “Yes, you drive me crazy half the time, but the other half more than makes up for it. You’re a handful, but that’s what I’ve got two hands for. I can’t even remember a time when you weren’t in my life. You’ve always been there for me, through the good and the bad. Especially the bad.”

He pauses for breath, blinks back the tears pricking at his eyes as he musters a smile. “You’ve been there for me even in the darkest of times, and for that, I can’t be more grateful. Your love and friendship has brought so much light into my life. You’re everything I could ever ask for and more.” He reaches up to wipe at his eyes a little, chuckling softly. “You’re my best friend, Nina. There aren’t enough words to describe how much I love you. I can’t wait to spend forever with you, my love. We’ve spent practically our whole lives together up until this point, and now we get to live out the rest of our lives in the same way, because now you’re my _wife_.”

He says it so reverently and with such awe, like he can’t believe his own luck, that a single tear slides down her cheek as she giggles, rather overwhelmed by his unabashedly earnest words. “You’re my best friend too, Gabriel. I love you so much. Honestly, I kind of don’t want to live a life without you in it. I know that sounds extreme, but it’s true,” she says to their audience, rather defensive as a few chuckles sound throughout the ballroom.

She laughs under her breath, allowing herself to pause for breath before continuing. “You’ve been in my life for so long, the idea of living a life without you—I just can’t imagine it. Knowing you is one of the greatest privileges I’ve ever had in my life. I’m the luckiest person alive to get to call you my husband. Here’s to a lifetime of getting wine-drunk on our fire escape and looking stupid in public together by doing dumb shit—I mean, _stuff_ like dancing in stores to overplayed pop songs or singing at the top of our lungs in our car and getting the words all wrong, and also the important stuff, like dismantling the patriarchy, fighting for gender equality and queer rights, and helping to destroy racism together.” She smiles then, rather teasing, a little mischievous. “And to quote your favourite songstress of all time, ‘I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this’.”

At the laughter that ensues as Enjolras turns rather pink, Éponine turns to the guests, grinning drolly. “Yeah, you think _I_ was the one who initially decided on Taylor Swift for our first dance song? Think again.”

Laughter soon morphs into a chorus of “awww”s when Enjolras pulls her into a kiss, though really, he does it just to shut her up, and Éponine laughs against his lips, knowing full well his reasons behind the kiss as she readily kisses him back. Once they break apart, they raise their champagne flutes in a toast, clinking their glasses against each other and laughing. Bewilderment flits across Enjolras’ face for the briefest of moments when Éponine remains standing even as he sits down, eyebrows furrowing as he gives her a questioning look. She only grins in return.

“So I’ve got one more surprise,” Éponine reveals, and that’s when Enjolras notices Grantaire slipping back into the ballroom, Éponine’s guitar slung over his back. He never even realised Grantaire slipped out at some point. He turns his focus back to Éponine, who goes on, “I promise this is the last thing before dinner is served. It won’t be any longer than five minutes. I promise.”

There are a few scattered laughs as Grantaire sidles up to Éponine and hands her her guitar before sliding back into his seat at the next table. She flashes him an appreciative little grin, placing the guitar strap over her shoulder. Turning back to Enjolras, she smiles at him and says, “I’m not as good as Gabriel here when it comes to singing, but I like to think I’m alright.”

“She’s being modest,” he interrupts, a small, fond smile on his face as he shakes his head slightly. “She was the understudy for Anita in our school’s production of _West Side Story_ back in our junior year of high school and stepped into the role on closing night when the main girl was ill, and she was absolutely brilliant.”

At that, several guests coo, and Éponine feels her cheeks grow warm. Glancing over her shoulder at Grantaire, she manages a little smile. “Special shout-out to R here for somehow staying patient enough to teach me how to play the guitar all through middle and high school. Especially since he usually has the attention span of a rodent.”

“Woo!” Bahorel lets out a small whoop, evoking a laugh from Jehan as Grantaire grins in return, saluting her.

Éponine laughs and turns back to Enjolras, who’s patiently gazing at her through expectant blue eyes. She takes a deep breath and starts plucking at the strings, playing in arpeggio, and quite a few bars in, she begins to sing. Her voice rings out through the hushed ballroom, breaking through the quiet.

_Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you_

Enjolras gazes at her, finding it rather hard to breathe for a moment there. Her eyes are on him the entire time, and the dimpled smile on her face can actually be heard in her voice as she serenades him, sweetly, clearly. His eyes sting a little as he chuckles under his breath, an enamoured smile lighting up his entire face. He’s got so much love in him, for her, he feels like he might burst.

There’s a stillness in the air as she comes to the end of the song, nothing but absolute silence for a moment or two, and then the room erupts in raucous applause. Enjolras claps harder than anyone, blinking back the tears in his eyes as Éponine beams, rather flustered, and takes a quick bow before handing off her guitar to Grantaire, presumably to take back to her dressing room or wherever it was she kept it up until now, and takes her seat, moving her chair as close as she physically can to Enjolras’ and kissing his cheek.

“Right! Let’s eat!” Éponine announces shortly thereafter.

During dinner, Combeferre is the first to stand up and give an utterly heartfelt speech, pretty much the complete opposite of Courfeyrac’s best-man speech to Marius. Then comes Cosette’s toast, earnest and lighthearted, with a few jokes scattered throughout, not unlike Éponine’s own maid-of-honour speech to her at _her_ wedding. Though riddled with his trademark wry humour, Grantaire’s toast is unexpectedly sincere, Azelma and Gavroche give a joint speech and throw in a few ribbing comments, a few of which make Éponine seriously consider throttling them later.

And finally there’s Matthieu’s speech to them, so candid, so sincere. It reduces quite a few guests to tears, and Matthieu himself sheds a tear or two in his toast to his son and new daughter-in-law, making mention of how he’s always considered Éponine to be like a daughter to him ever since Enjolras introduced her to him on the first day of kindergarten and today simply felt like a matter of making things official. Under the table, Éponine feels Enjolras’ grip on her hand tighten as they gaze at his father, and she steals a sideways glance to see that tears have gathered in Enjolras’ eyes, an almost imperceptible, rather melancholy smile on his face.

“So here’s to the newlyweds.” Matthieu wipes at his eyes with a handkerchief before raising his glass, prompting everyone else to do so as well, his whole face alight with happiness as he gazes at Enjolras and Éponine. “To my wonderful son and my new daughter—I love you both. May your marriage be full of more love and laughter than you can experience in this lifetime. To the bride and groom!”

“To the bride and groom!” everybody cheers, echoing Matthieu’s sentiments. Éponine giggles and buries her face in Enjolras’ shoulder, hiding how her cheeks have flushed red. He laughs, beaming at his father, full-on beaming, as he takes a small bow and sits back down.

Once everyone’s plates have been cleared away, the dance floor opens, and Éponine wastes no time in jumping out of her seat and dragging Enjolras out onto the dance floor, grinning from ear to ear. Gradually, other people begin to join them, laughter soon ringing out through the ballroom as upbeat music blares from the speakers. The fading daylight streams in through the windows, turning everything gold.

Éponine laughs out loud when “Crazy in Love” comes on, grabbing Enjolras’ hands and spinning him around once, grinning so hard, she feels like her face might split in half. “Oh, my God, remember when we skipped junior prom? Went to that club? Got hammered off our asses on all those tequila slammers and I screamed my head off when this came on?”

Enjolras smiles wryly and laughs. “How could I ever forget? You nearly passed out on me. I almost had to carry you home.”

He twirls her around once, and she giggles. “How was that twelve years ago? Feels like it was just yesterday.”

“Because you vomited your guts out this morning?” he teasingly questions, raising an eyebrow. She pretends to scoff and smacks him in the arm, though a grin graces her lips.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t puke _once_ today,” she informs him haughtily, sticking her nose up in the air. “My anxiety manifested in other ways.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath. “Right, then.”

She laughs as he spins her around, once, twice, before pulling her close, an adoring smile on his face. “You look beautiful,” he tells her softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the pounding music. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned that yet.”

Faint spots of pink bloom in her cheeks as she returns his smile, rather self-conscious. “Thanks,” she mumbles in reply. Raising her voice a bit, she responds almost cheekily, “You look like a snack yourself.”

He furrows his eyebrows, pursing his lips. “Only a snack?”

She throws her head back and cackles. “So I’m guessing Adrien called you a five-course meal.” Pulling him close, she says, “My point _is_ , you look hot as fuck.” Her voice lowers quite a bit, lips forming a brazen smirk as her gaze trails downwards for a split second. “I can’t wait to rip all this off later tonight.”

Heat rushes into his cheeks at her shameless remark. “Jesus _Christ_ , Nina.”

She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss as Beyoncé seamlessly fades into Madonna. He smiles against her lips as he kisses her back, his arms around her waist, feeling her run her fingers through his hair. She makes to move away when they break apart before he wraps his arms around her from behind, her shriek of laughter lost to the music blasting from the speakers as he leans down and rests his chin on her shoulder, smiling contentedly, as she reaches up to ruffle his hair, turning her head to kiss his cheek.

At some point, Courfeyrac drags Enjolras off to dance with him and Combeferre, leaving Éponine to her own devices for a bit. She wanders off the dance floor and over to the windows, gazing out at the lights of the city and smiling to herself. She’s on top of the fucking world. She doubts anything in existence can bring her down from this exhilarating high.

She traipses over to the wooden board with the photographs on display and regards the pictures of Enjolras and herself through the years, from childhood photographs to terrible teenage selfies to spontaneous candids depicting the trials and tribulations of adulthood. After skimming over photographs from their joint bachelor/bachelorette road trip to Vegas a month ago, her lips form a bit of a grin when her gaze lands on the picture she took of Enjolras, who was oblivious at the time of its capture, when they got a little more than a little buzzed on his twenty-second birthday, the photograph having been taken in the middle of his drunken rendition of Taylor Swift’s “22”. At the feeling of someone tapping on her shoulder, she jumps, startled, and whirls around, staring through wide eyes only to see Valérie Thibault standing there, clad in a lacy, knee-length navy-blue dress, her fiery red hair done up in a braided updo, towering over Éponine in the heels she has on. Éponine breathes out a laugh, regaining her composure as Valérie puts her hands up.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologises, letting out a small laugh. “Let’s start over.”

Éponine musters a rather weak smile, humouring her. “Okay.”

“Congratulations!” Valérie exclaims, pulling Éponine in for a quick three-second hug before immediately drawing back. “What did I tell you?”

Éponine laughs, a real laugh this time, and rolls her eyes a little. “Thank you for breaking up with me all those years ago. I mean it in the nicest way possible.”

Valérie smiles, shaking her head as her gaze trails to the photographs on the board. “You really did look more like a nun than a bride,” she comments lightly.

Éponine snorts, cocking her head as she stares at the picture of her and Enjolras’ childhood fake wedding. “I did, didn’t I?”

“How come you never mentioned it to me back then?”

“Oh, well, um, believe it or not, Gabe and I actually forgot it ever happened. He came across a photo almost three years ago and we only remembered it then.”

Valérie laughs. Éponine watches her closely, curiously, then asks, “So you came here with someone? When you RSVP’d, you said you were bringing a plus one.”

“Oh! Yes, I came with my girlfriend,” Valérie replies, cheerful as can be. “She’s incredible. She had her doubts at first about attending my ex’s wedding, but I promised her that we’re totally platonic now.”

Éponine laughs. “Indeed we are.”

She glances over at the dance floor and glimpses Enjolras dancing with Courfeyrac to “Raise Your Glass” and laughing, and she smiles to herself. Valérie follows her gaze before turning her attention back to Éponine, asking quietly, “You really love him, don’t you?”

Éponine sighs and nods. “Yeah. I really do. He’s just… he’s amazing.” Turning her head to meet Valérie’s gaze, she laughs a little. “You saw it coming before I did. Again, thank you for breaking things off.”

Valérie laughs again, smiling warmly. “You’re welcome. And things ended up turning out great for the both of us, didn’t they?” She pauses then, contemplative. “More than great, really. I mean, you’re _married_ now.”

Éponine beams, toying with her locket. “I am, huh?”

“Congratulations again, Mrs. Enjolras,” Valérie teases before offering Éponine another smile, small but sincere. “I’ll see you around, alright?”

“See you around.” Éponine lingers by the window, watching the others dancing from afar and smiling at the sight. The opening fiddle tune of “Come On Eileen” plays over the speakers and everybody cheers just as Grantaire stumbles off the dance floor, eyes searching the room for Éponine and soon spotting her by the window.

His face lighting up, he makes a beeline for her and grabs her by the hands, grinning like a lunatic. Éponine raises her eyebrows at him, biting back an amused grin. “Right, how drunk are you?”

Grantaire makes a face, feigning affront. “I’m not _drunk_. I’ve only had, like, three glasses of champagne. That’s _it_. Just—come on, let’s dance!”

Éponine laughs as he drags her back onto the dance floor, Jehan soon joining them, and Grantaire sings along to the music, replacing every “Eileen” with her name. Squeezing in that extra syllable proves to be rather difficult for him. Éponine laughs even louder at how eventually, Grantaire simply resorts to singing “’Ponine”. He’s a bit pitchy.

“So!” Jehan shouts over the music just as Bleachers comes on, remaining unfazed at how Grantaire whoops and attempts to leap onto his back. He manages to stay on for about five seconds before jumping back down. “You’re _married_!”

“I know! It’s insane!” Éponine yells back, grinning from ear to ear.

“You two gonna make a baby anytime soon?” Grantaire questions as he dances his way back to her side, grinning and swaying slightly. Éponine is seriously beginning to doubt his claims of sobriety. “And when you do, can I be godfather?”

Éponine rolls her eyes and shoves him away with a snort. “Jesus Christ, calm down, Florida man. I just got married four fucking hours ago. And, no offence, you’re the absolute _worst_ candidate for godfather. So to answer your second question, no.”

Grantaire cackles. “Care to explain why?”

Éponine stops for a moment, pretends to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Your entire personality, for one. Also, my kids are going to be scarred enough by you inevitably telling them at some point that you’ve had sex with both their parents.”

He juts out his bottom lip at her, pouting, and latches onto Jehan, leaning up to put his chin on the latter’s shoulder. “Meanie.”

She rolls her eyes again, lightly smacking him on the arm and laughing. “Just telling it like it is, honey. You’ll just have to settle for being a fun uncle when Gabriel and I do have kids one day.”

At that, Grantaire lightens up considerably, though part of that might have to do with how Jehan puts his arm around his shoulders. Éponine can’t be sure. “I’d be fucking awesome at that. Like a vodka aunt!”

Éponine gives him a weird look, biting back a snort. “Not really the same thing, but okay!”

Jehan laughs and beams at her, jumping along to music. “I’m so happy for you!” he exclaims, blue eyes alight. “This day has been amazing.”

Éponine laughs. “Thank you! Honestly, sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

By the time _Grease_ blasts over the sound system, Éponine’s danced her way back to Enjolras, scaring the shit out of him by throwing her arms around him from behind without warning and loudly singing along as the song hits its chorus. He jumps in alarm and whirls around as she bursts out laughing at the wide-eyed, almost wild look on his face. Upon seeing that it’s just her, he rolls his eyes and lightly shoves her, and she cackles and puts her arms around his neck, pulling him close, their faces mere inches apart.

“You’re the one that I want,” she sings along, leaning in until the tips of their noses touch. “Ooh, ooh, ooh, _honey_.” She then grins, clearly remembering that one Halloween a few years ago, when they’d gotten absolutely trashed and let themselves get talked into doing a couple rounds of karaoke in character as Danny and Sandy. Giggling softly, she runs her fingers through his hair. “Hi.”

He smiles back, equally affectionate. “Hi.”

The night passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye, with the dancing and the cake-cutting and skipping the bouquet/garter tosses and taking more photographs of just the two of them, sitting together at the window, the Empire State Building in the background, the cherry on top of the Manhattan skyline. Several times, one or more of their friends or, in her case, her siblings would snatch one of them away for a dance before they find their way back to each other as they always do. At one point, they sneak away for some alone time in her dressing room, letting themselves breathe for a while, take a break from the festivities. Really soak in the fact that they’re actually _married_ now.

It’s half an hour to midnight when the DJ announces the final song, the last dance, the grand finale. Éponine exchanges a look with Enjolras, laughing as the intro to “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” resounds through the ballroom, grabbing his hand and pulling him close.

“Hey, if I run and jump at you, will you lift me?” she questions. Somewhere behind her, she can hear Joly and Bossuet singing the words wrong as they sing along, Musichetta’s laughter at their expense ringing out through the ballroom.

Enjolras laughs and wrinkles his nose a little. “Your dress is too long. And I don’t think either of us are looking to break any bones today of all days.”

Éponine laughs out loud, spinning him around. “Fine, that’s fair.”

Honestly, neither of them want the night to end, but still they find themselves making their grand exit, everyone being ushered out into the foyer. The guests shower them in rose petals as they make a mad dash to the exit, to where their car is waiting, and Éponine cackles and resists the urge to stick up her middle finger when she hears the distinct sound of Grantaire wolf-whistling.

As Enjolras harnesses a sleeping Ginger into the backseat next to Éponine’s guitar, he notices the pale pink window decals on the rear window, broadcasting his and Éponine’s newlywed status to the world, and recalls how Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly disappeared for a bit during the reception while he was dancing with his cousin. No doubt to decorate his car and put Éponine’s guitar in the back, just in case she forgot to fetch it before their departure. He smiles at the “Just Married” decals, simple yet elegant.

Éponine claims shotgun and rolls down the window to wave goodbye to everyone, beaming, as Enjolras begins to drive away from the venue and back home. It isn’t a very long drive at all—only ten minutes or so. Éponine takes off her shoes, draws her knees up to her chest under her dress. At some point on their way out, Enjolras took off his suit jacket to drape it over Éponine’s shoulders, having noticed how she shivered at the chilly air in the foyer. She wraps it tighter around herself now, gazing at him as he drives with a little smile on her face. The lights of the city blur past.

Eventually, he stops humming along to the music she’s put on long enough to notice her watching him intently, and he casts a sideways glance at her, eyebrows furrowed, lips forming a bit of a curious smile. “What?”

She just shrugs, her soft smile growing just the slightest bit wider. “You’re pretty.”

Cheeks growing warm, he turns his eyes back onto the road. She reaches over to lace her fingers through his, their tattoos aligning. He steals a fleeting glance at the engagement ring and wedding band on her fourth finger before she brings his hand up to her face, pressing her lips to his knuckles in a tender kiss. He can’t quite bite back his smile, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of her hand just as they turn onto their street. He parks the car in front of their building moments later.

Éponine’s just retrieved Ginger from the backseat, the dog still completely conked out—no doubt exhausted from their hectic day—when Enjolras comes up behind her and scoops her up in his arms like she weighs nothing, eliciting a little shriek of surprise.

“Gabriel, what the fuck?” is her oh so eloquent reaction, naturally, furrowing her eyebrows as she stares at him, holding Ginger in her arms. He just rolls his eyes and chuckles quietly, walking into their apartment building and making his way to the stairs.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to tire yourself out going up all these stairs on our wedding night,” he says, taking great care to keep themselves balanced as he makes his way up the stairs, Éponine in his arms.

She giggles, holding Ginger close to her chest. After three flights of stairs, Enjolras stops for a moment, his breathing rather harsh, erratic. Éponine grins and leans in to kiss his shoulder, brown eyes alight as they meet his blue. “You starting to regret leasing an apartment on the fifth floor of a walk-up?” she teases, playfully raising an eyebrow.

“ _No_ ,” he denies, giving her a look and laughing under his breath. “Of course not. I just need to catch my breath for a bit.”

“Right. If you say so.” She presses a kiss to his cheek just as he starts climbing the stairs again, and if it weren’t for Ginger, Éponine would put her arms around her darling husband’s neck right now. She settles for laying her head on his shoulder, snuggling up to him as he somehow manages to get their apartment keys out of his pocket and unlock their door without putting her down once, carrying her past the threshold and into their apartment.

Once inside, he puts her down on solid ground once again, and she kicks off her kitten heels, stealing away momentarily to place Ginger in her little nest by the living room windows before returning to Enjolras. She laughs when he sweeps her into his arms, large hands maintaining a gentle grasp on her waist as she reaches up to slide her arms around his neck, a soft grin on her face.

“So what now?” he asks in a low voice.

“I was thinking we could pop some champagne?” she suggests. “I saved a bottle just for tonight.”

A corner of his mouth quirks upwards in the barest hint of an affectionate smile. “Sounds perfect.”

Ten minutes later, he sits on their bed, his back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, holding a flute of champagne as she takes off his suit jacket to drape it over the back of the clothes chair in the corner. Grabbing her own champagne flute, she hops onto the bed to sit beside him, still clad in her full wedding attire, minus the shoes. She scoots closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and unlocks it. There’s a notification of a text from the wedding photographer. They’ve sent her a few of the wedding pictures already.

“What a day,” she remarks lightly, grinning at him and bringing her champagne flute to her lips. “We’re going to be like Carl and Ellie. Growing old together. Till death do us part.”

He chuckles, a soft, gentle sound. “We’ve come so far since our first wedding, haven’t we?”

She snorts, scrolling through Instagram and stopping at the one post she’d made that night. It’s a single blurry selfie of Enjolras and herself on the dance floor, the pair of them having been shouting along to the music, not a single care in the world. She laughs under her breath at the memory of it. They’d each had a couple of glasses of champagne by then, the bubbly having given them a bit of a buzz.

**eponine.t: HOLY FUCK WE’RE MARRIED @genjolras**

As she places her phone on the nightstand, she feels his lips press into her hair, hears him breathe out a contented sigh. “Who would have thought we would end up where we are now?”

Lifting her head up from his shoulder, she scrunches up her face at him and laughs. “Everyone but us,” she quips.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his champagne. “I still can’t believe we were the last ones to know.”

“Believe it, babe. You’ve never been the most aware when it comes to romantic feelings and shit.”

“Really? The same could be said about you.”

She elbows him then, giving him a look and snorting under her breath. He laughs just as she lets out a colossal yawn. “Fuck, I’m exhausted.”

He downs the last of his champagne and places the empty flute on the far end of the nightstand. “Éponine Thénardier, too tired for sex? Never thought I’d see the day,” he comments teasingly, moving back towards her and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She makes a face at him, swatting at his arm. “Shut up. I never said anything of the sort. Don’t put words in my mouth. I bought special lingerie for tonight. No fucking way am I letting it go to waste.” Moving closer to him and placing her chin on his shoulder, she murmurs, “And I think you’re forgetting something.”

A corner of his mouth lifts up as he turns his head to gaze into her eyes, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Oh? And what would that be?”

She giggles and punches him in the arm. “I’m not Éponine Thénardier anymore.”

Something inside him grows warm at the indirect reminder of how they’re married now. They’ll be taking off for their honeymoon in two days; he’s taking her to Paris, just like he promised her all those years ago. She’s his _wife_. He gets to spend the rest of his life with her and because of it, he’s the luckiest man alive.

He reaches up to cup her cheek, seeing how she smiles as he leans in to close the gap between them, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. She giggles against his lips, kissing him back. He smiles, whispering, “I love you, Mrs. Enjolras.”

She feels like she might burst, she’s so ridiculously, incandescently happy. It’s just the two of them now. She’s his, and he’s hers. Her husband. Her best friend. Her everything. Forever.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [éponine's wedding dress](https://www.kleinfeldbridal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/mikaella-off-the-shoulder-satin-ball-gown-with-pleated-bodice-beaded-belt-and-sweetheart-neckline-33900093-1193x1800.jpg).


	27. a trying time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve crossed into their thirties now. The fact that Cosette and Marius are having another baby gets them thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: it gets a little racy for a bit there, but honestly, considering my track record, it's actually pretty tame, at least in comparison to a _lot_ of my other fics. hope ya like it lol

* * *

It’s a little over a year after they got married, a couple of months before Enjolras’ thirty-first birthday, when Éponine realises just how fucking _bad_ her baby fever has gotten.

Cosette is pregnant again and halfway through her second trimester, which has led to the others taking turns on babysitting Georgie while his parents are at Cosette’s doctor’s appointments. It’s Éponine and Enjolras’ turn this Saturday, Cosette and Marius having dropped off Georgie and Chou Chou at their apartment hours earlier. The couple seem to take her appointment days as opportunities for dates as well, Éponine wryly notes. Not that it bothers her that much. She and Enjolras absolutely adore spending time with their godson. And Ginger gets a playmate in the form of Chou Chou for a while, so everybody wins.

Éponine sits on the rug in the living room with Georgie, all of her bottles of nail polish spread out on the coffee table before them and _The Princess and the Frog_ playing on TV, while Enjolras cooks lunch for them. Chilli mac and cheese for Éponine and himself, regular mac and cheese for Georgie. Ginger and Chou Chou lie asleep on the former’s little nest of blankets and pillows in a corner. Chou Chou’s a little too big for it, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he snoozes away.

“What colour do you want?” Éponine asks Georgie, gesturing to the nail polish bottles on the coffee table.

Georgie points to the pale chick-yellow polish. “That one!”

“Alright, then!” Éponine motions for him to place his hands flat on the coffee table, picking up the bottle of polish and shaking it a bit. “You have to stay very, very still, okay? So I don’t mess up the polish.”

Georgie giggles and nods. “Okay, Auntie Nini.”

Enjolras watches them from the kitchen as he stirs the mac and cheese, not quite aware of the fond smile on his face as he gazes at his wife meticulously painting their godson’s nails. He loves seeing her with Georgie. Her entire face lights up, her laughter more frequent, effervescent, dimpled smiles dazzling. She always pays the utmost attention to what Georgie has to say, even if it’s something as utterly inconsequential as which coloured pencils he should use to colour his drawing. (Well, inconsequential to them, maybe. It must mean the world to an almost five-year-old boy, he thinks in amusement.)

Éponine talks to Georgie as she paints his nails, listening to him ramble on and on about everything and nothing all at once, the way little kids do, and soaking up every word. Lately, babies and children have caught her eye _considerably_ more often than they ever have before. It’s almost pathetic. And now Cosette’s having another baby and Éponine’s witnessing her prepare for a child all over again. She wonders what that must be like.

“Are you excited about getting a new sibling, Georgie?” she asks brightly. He looks up from his nails to focus those big hazel eyes on her.

“Yeah!” He beams, his little face lighting up. Éponine can’t help but grin in return. God, he is _adorable_. “When they come, you can paint their nails too.”

She laughs. “Sure, if they want me to.”

Georgie looks over at Enjolras, seeing how he pours out the mac and cheese into a bowl. “I’m hungry, Uncle Gabe!” he calls, lips forming a bit of a pout.

Enjolras chuckles, responding patiently, “I’m nearly done here, Georgie. I promise we’ll be eating lunch soon.”

“Let your nails dry first,” Éponine reminds the little boy, screwing the nail polish bottle shut.

Georgie obediently nods once again. “Okay, Auntie Nini.”

Grinning, she pulls him into his lap, pressing kisses to his cheek as he squeals with laughter. “You’re getting so big!” she comments, tickling his sides until he pleads for her to stop through his giggles. “When did you get so big? Feels like it was just yesterday that I was watching you come out of your mom.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the weird look Enjolras shoots her way, silently asking her if it’s really appropriate for her to be talking to a five-year-old boy like that. She just rolls her eyes and grins sardonically at him in return, informing him that she’s got this and Georgie will forget about her words in a matter of minutes anyway, considering how kids are so prone to short attention spans.

Georgie looks up at her, his little face all scrunched up as he scrutinises her for a few moments. And then he laughs. “You’re funny, Auntie Nini.”

Éponine smiles and boops his nose. “Are you excited to start kindergarten next month?”

Georgie lights up. “Yeah!” he says, nodding up and down. “Mommy said you and Uncle Gabe met in kindergarten in Nana’s class.”

She laughs softly, looking up to exchange a glance with her husband. The fond smile he sends her way makes her insides go warm. “We did. On the very first day, too. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

Georgie watches her, rapt. She turns her gaze back to him, and something about that look of wonder on his face makes her ache for something more. “Maybe I’ll meet my best friend on the first day like you did, Auntie Nini,” he muses.

“Who knows?” Éponine boops his nose again, making him giggle. “Maybe you will!”

Enjolras smiles, placing their food on the breakfast bar and calling, “Lunch is ready!”

“Yay!” Georgie practically flies out of Éponine’s lap and darts over to the breakfast bar, hoisting himself up onto one of the stools and grabbing the bowl of mac and cheese meant for him. Éponine laughs as she gets to her feet, going to sit by the little boy. Enjolras brings their chilli mac and cheese over, taking a seat next to his wife and kissing the top of her head as he sits down.

Georgie eats ravenously, shovelling spoonful after spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth at such a fast rate, it rather alarms Enjolras. “Georgie, maybe you should slow down a little,” he suggests, reaching around Éponine to pat the little boy’s back. “You wouldn’t want to throw up, would you?”

Georgie purses his lips, like he’s only now considering that possibility. “Okay, Uncle Gabe.”

“It’s not the kid’s fault that your food is _so yummy_ ,” Éponine quips, scrunching up her face at him and grinning.

Enjolras rolls his eyes good-naturedly, snorting under his breath. “It’s really nothing.”

The afternoon passes by with Georgie talking their ears off about how excited he is to start kindergarten and make new friends, going off on tangents more times than they can count about getting a new baby sibling and how he and Chou Chou will have another little face to play with and God only knows what else. At some point, Ginger and Chou Chou wake up from their nap and instantly distract Georgie, the little boy going to play with them. Éponine and Enjolras snuggle on the sofa, watching their godson playing with the dogs on the rug while _Hercules_ plays on the TV.

Éponine observes Georgie, picking out which traits he inherited from Cosette and which he got from Marius. He takes after his mother for the most part, but he got his freckles and hazel eyes from his father. And he’s rather tall for an almost five-year-old as well, so that must be something else he got from Marius. More than once, Éponine catches herself wondering what her and Enjolras’ kids might look like. Squirmy little extensions of themselves, half of her and half of him. The thought of it tugs at her heartstrings.

Cosette and Marius finally swing by at five minutes past three o’clock to pick up Georgie and Chou Chou. Enjolras goes to answer the door while Éponine sits on the floor, holding Georgie in her lap as they play with the dogs. She looks up at the sound of footsteps, seeing Cosette walking in and beaming in delight upon laying eyes on her son, Enjolras and Marius close behind her. Éponine watches as Georgie squeals and gets up to dash into his mother’s arms, Chou Chou close behind, a bit of a pang in her heart at the sight. For a split second there, she longs to know what that’s like. Parenthood.

“Hi, baby!” Cosette coos, kissing Georgie’s forehead and petting Chou Chou’s head. Éponine’s eyes drift to her baby bump for a fleeting moment. “Did you have fun with Auntie Nini and Uncle Gabe and Ginger?”

Georgie nods vigorously, beaming. Éponine notices how his smile is identical to Cosette’s. He holds his hands up for his mother to see. “Auntie Nini painted my nails!”

“Ooh!” Cosette takes his little hands, marvelling at the paint job. “She did such a good job!”

“Thank you very much,” Éponine calls out as she scratches below Ginger’s chin, the dog having climbed into her lap.

Cosette focuses those blue eyes at Éponine, and she smiles, filled with gratitude. “Thank you so much for looking after him and Chou Chou.”

Éponine returns her smile. “Oh, it was no problem. Gabriel and I love spending time with our godson.”

“And he loves spending time with you.” Cosette lightly pinches one of Georgie’s cheeks, giggling at how he scrunches up his little face. “Doesn’t he?” When the little boy nods, she prompts, “What do we say, Georgie?”

“Thank you, Auntie Nini,” he chirps, getting up to wrap his little arms around Enjolras’ hips, craning his neck to properly meet his eyes. “Thank you, Uncle Gabe!”

Enjolras chuckles and ruffles Georgie’s hair. “You’re very welcome, Georgie.”

“Thanks again for looking after them.” Marius hoists Georgie up into his arms, bouncing him and making the little boy laugh. Éponine gets to her feet, holding Ginger, as Enjolras makes his way over to her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

Cosette’s just put Chou Chou’s leash on before she straightens up, traipsing over to Marius and Georgie. “Well, we’ll be going now,” she says, placing one hand on the swell of her belly. “Again, thank you _so_ much for looking after them while we were at the doctor.”

“It was nothing, Coco. Really.” Éponine flashes her a small grin, scratching behind Ginger’s ear.

“We’re always happy to have Georgie here,” Enjolras says, smiling warmly. “And Chou Chou, too.”

They walk the little family outside, going all the way down those stairs just to watch them get in their car and drive away. Éponine laughs at how Georgie rolls down a window and waves frantically at them, calling, “Bye, Auntie Nini! Bye, Uncle Gabe! Bye-bye, Ginger!”

Éponine lifts Ginger’s paw to make her wave back, grinning. “Bye, Georgie! Bye, Chou Chou!”

Once the Pontmercy-Fauchelevents’ station wagon rounds a corner and disappears from view, Éponine looks up at Enjolras, meeting his gaze. “So what now?”

He lets out a soft laugh and kisses her forehead. “Has the possibility of going back inside ever crossed your mind?”

She gives him a bit of a sour look, elbowing him in the ribs and wrinkling her nose. “Smartass.”

Nevertheless, they do as he suggested anyway, returning inside and going upstairs to their apartment. Once he’s locked their door behind them, she places Ginger back down on the floor, watching as she trots out of sight. Enjolras follows the dog into the living room, leaving Éponine in the foyer. Her gaze drifts to the framed photographs mounted on the wall and lands on a photograph hanging next to a picture from their fake wedding over two decades ago. A photograph from their real wedding. It’s a lovely candid of them dancing at their reception, his bright-eyed smile, all gleaming white teeth like a fucking toothpaste commercial, dominating his face, her head thrown back as she laughs. She catches herself smiling rather wistfully. Was that really a year and almost three months ago? Sometimes it still feels like they were married just yesterday.

“Nina?” Enjolras calls from the living room, snapping her out of her reverie. Éponine startles a little, kicking off her sandals and hastily placing them on the rack before venturing past the foyer, finding her husband sitting on the sofa with Ginger in his lap. She plops down next to him, wondering what he’ll say next.

At her silence, his eyebrows furrow, and he asks softly, “Are you alright, love? You look a little off.”

She opens her mouth to reply before closing it again, racking her brain for the right words. In the past few months or so, especially in light of Cosette’s second pregnancy, she hasn’t been able to keep her eyes off babies and everything related to them. She’s caught herself thinking time and time again about what her own child might be like. And she knows that Enjolras wants children one day, their conversation from way back when Georgie was born forever etched into the back of her mind.

“I want a baby,” she blurts out. She winces a little at how that ended up coming out. _Smooth, Éponine. Real smooth._

Enjolras’ eyes widen in slight surprise, rather taken aback by her unexpected declaration. A few moments pass. And then he laughs.

“Alright, then,” he agrees, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Let’s have a baby.”

Éponine furrows her eyebrows at him, rather baffled. “Really? You don’t have any objections or anything?”

“Why would I?” He looks genuinely confused at the idea. It makes her smile in spite of herself. “We’re both at great places in our careers and make more than enough to be able to adequately support a baby, financially speaking. We’ve definitely got the room. And I’m sure Ginger here would love a tiny human to play with,” he says, looking down at the dog. She perks up upon hearing her name, drawing a little laugh from Éponine.

“Are you absolutely sure about this, though?” she asks, biting her lip and toying with her locket. “Like, do you actually want a baby or are you only going along with it because I said _I_ wanted a baby?”

He laughs again, rolls his eyes slightly, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Of course I actually want a baby, Nina,” he tells her, his voice soft. “I want a baby with you. I’ve always wanted a baby with you.”

At that, her eyebrows furrow even more, a trio of wrinkles forming between her brows. “What the hell do you mean, ‘ _always_ ’? Were you thinking about having babies with me in high school? Because no offence, but that’s kind of really fucking weird, dude.”

He rolls his eyes again and swats at her arm, a wry, though good-natured, smile gracing his lips. “Jesus, you’re so full of it. For your information, by ‘always’, I mean ever since we seriously talked about getting married, sometime before we got engaged. You mentioned wanting to start a family, so that got me thinking.”

“Oh, okay, then.” She grins. “Because that’d be really fucking weird if you’d been thinking about having babies with me for a decade before we even got together. Like, I know I’m dreamy, but calm down a bit, maybe.”

He just laughs and rolls his eyes yet again, taking it all in stride and kissing her forehead once again. His blue eyes soften. “So should we start trying?”

“Sure. I guess I’ll go off the pill.” She lifts Ginger out of his lap and places her on the floor, letting the dog go off on her own to wander the apartment for a bit, stretch her little legs. “Looks like we’re really doing this, huh? We’re making a baby.”

He nods, a smile lighting up his face, crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes. “We’re making a baby.”

She giggles, climbing into his lap to straddle him and putting her arms around his neck. “Want to get started now?” she suggests, affecting a sultry tone of voice that draws a laugh out of him. She grins and leans in to nibble at his earlobe as her hands tug at the hem of his shirt, smirking a little at how his breath hitches.

A surprised shriek escapes her when he abruptly stands up, immediately hooking her legs around his waist so not to fall on her ass. A corner of his mouth lifts up in a slight smirk as he holds her up, leaning in to press his lips to hers, and she lets out a soft moan at the feeling of his teeth digging into her bottom lip. It sends tingles down her spine and she finds herself desperate for more, wanting nothing more than to feel him rocking inside her, moving in her, pounding into her and driving her body into the mattress.

“Sounds like a plan,” he murmurs, carrying her off to their bedroom. Her laughter echoes through the apartment as he kicks the door shut behind them and captures her lips in a fiery kiss, the rest of the world falling away.

* * *

Éponine lets out a low groan as she and Grantaire stroll through Central Park, Ginger and Toby gaily trotting along a little way ahead of them. Her eyes wander to the greenery, watching how the leaves have begun to turn all shades of red and orange and gold, the wind blowing them every which way until they pile up on the ground. It’s only been two months since she and Enjolras started trying to conceive, but already, the lack of results has begun to discourage her. She rubs the tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, rather lost in thought.

“Everything okay, babe?” Grantaire questions, breaking her out of her trance. Her head snaps up to look at him, rather startled. After a few moments of consideration, she sighs and shakes her head.

“Why is it so fucking hard to make a baby?” she bemoans, throwing her hands up into the air. “It’s _not fair_ that teenagers who don’t want babies at all get knocked up so easily while I, someone who actually wants a damn baby, can’t seem to fucking get pregnant.”

Grantaire laughs. “Hasn’t it only been two months since Gabe started going raw in you?”

Éponine stares at him, rather appalled by his vulgar way of phrasing things. She elbows him sharply in the ribs, biting back a smug smirk at the grunt of pain that draws from him. “Why do you always have to be so coarse? Jesus Christ.”

“Who would I be if I wasn’t?” He grins at her, absolutely shameless. Despite herself, she laughs, rolling her eyes. The look in his blue eyes turns much more sincere as he pats her back, telling her, “Don’t give up so quickly. If you think about it too much, his little swimmers will feel the pressure and drown, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” she snarks with a snort. He laughs out loud.

“That’s kinda hot, though. How you two are making a baby.” He wiggles his eyebrows as his brazen grin broadens. “Means you guys are doing a lot of fucking.”

She just narrows her eyes at him, making a bit of face and laughing wryly. “Yeah, no. That’s shit you do in your twenties.”

“We’re barely out of our twenties,” he ripostes.

“Still counts.” She rolls her eyes and snorts once again. “Am I just bad at making babies?”

His eyebrows furrow as he stares at her, incredulous. “Of course not. Jesus, Ép, it’s only been two months, I think it’s too soon to be jumping to conclusions like that.”

She shoots him a dirty look, swatting at his arm. “Well, it feels like it’s been forever!”

“Probably because you’ve been getting railed every other day.”

“I do not _get railed_.”

“You sure about that, babe? Because you’re kind of walking funny right now.”

She elbows him in the ribs again, mortified at how he draws attention to her slight limp. “Shut up!”

He smirks, triumphant. “ _So_ , what’s it like getting railed on a regular basis by the great Gabriel Enjolras? You still a screamer?” He wiggles his eyebrows rather suggestively, grinning.

She snorts and elbows him in the side. “God, don’t be fucking gross. Also, it’s kind of cute how you think I’ll actually tell you. And it’s not like you don’t already know what he’s like in bed.”

“Hey, for all I know, he could have improved since he and I fucked. We were barely out of college when that happened, after all. Also, it was a one-time thing and we were both wasted off our asses. So. I barely remember a goddamn thing.”

“And whose fault is that?”

At the pleading look he shoots her way, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, blue eyes huge and beseeching, she rolls her eyes and sighs, relenting with a low laugh. “Well, if you must know, he always makes a point of getting me off before he shoots his load inside me.” She arches an eyebrow at him. “That enough info for you, you nosy fuck?”

He laughs and throws an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “That’s so _cute_. He’s so _thoughtful_ ,” he says, his tone so saccharine, it’s obvious he’s being anything but earnest.

She rolls her eyes and shoves him away, snorting under her breath. “You know, if you’re going to be like this, I’m never telling you anything ever again.” She looks at the path ahead, watching how Toby attempts to dart ahead of Ginger, almost getting their leashes tangled together in the process. She quickly catches up to Toby, with how she’s bigger than the Yorkie, if only slightly. “I never thought I’d be so upset about getting my period.” Up until about a week ago, she was on her cycle, which put a halt to her and Enjolras’ baby-making efforts for about five days or so. She’s since gone back to jumping his bones at every given opportunity.

“Cheer up!” He pats her on the head, setting her brown newsboy cap slightly askew. “Just keep fucking like rabbits and I’m sure you’ll get knocked up soon.”

She straightens her cap, giving him a weird look, though a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. In a weird way, his words are actually kind of reassuring. “Thanks.”

It’s nearing five in the afternoon when Ginger and Toby finally decide that they’ve tired themselves out, prompting Éponine to bid goodbye to Grantaire before picking Ginger up in her arms and taking the subway home. The apartment is empty by the time she gets there. Enjolras must still be on his outing with Feuilly, Éponine deduces as she sets Ginger down for a nap. And then she gets an idea.

When Enjolras returns home that evening, the sun has gone down, and to his bewilderment, all the lights in their apartment are off. “Nina?” he calls out, receiving no response.

Mystified, he checks the bathroom, wondering if she might be in there enjoying a bubble bath as she’s had a tendency of doing lately, but the lights in there are off as well. Rather concerned by her absence, he slowly makes his way to their bedroom. As he approaches the door, he thinks he catches a whiff of what distinctly smells like lavender.

“Éponine?”

Opening the door to step inside, his mouth goes dry and his blood almost immediately runs south at the sight that greets him.

All lights are off, the curtains drawn. Several scented candles are arranged all over the furniture, the dim light illuminating the room and casting a soft, ethereal glow. At the centre of it all is Éponine lying on the bed, a slight smirk on her face, wearing the lacy, skimpy burgundy lingerie that leaves _nothing_ to the imagination and never fails to drive him absolutely mad.

Enjolras swallows, feeling as if his brain is short-circuiting.

“So are you just going to stand there and drool, or are you going to get over here and fuck me into the bed until I can’t move?” she quips after a few moments of silence, sitting up and swinging her lithe legs over the edge of the bed, getting to her feet. “Because I’m fertile as hell right now and this baby’s not going to make itself, you know?”

He lets out a breathless laugh, rather dazed, and approaches her, wasting no time in sweeping her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a hard, ardent kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against him. She moans into his mouth, clinging to him and letting out a small gasp when his tongue slips past her lips, deepening the kiss and leaving her dizzy with want. Heat gathers between her legs, making her shiver as she pulls him closer, kisses him harder, impatiently undoing the buttons of his shirt and tearing it off his back before they fall back into bed.

Her small hand goes to squeeze his ass before he pulls back, breathing harshly, face flushed. She smiles and bites her swollen lip, struggling to catch her breath.

He leans back in to claim her lips as she undoes his belt, tugging down his pants for him to kick off the bed before sliding her arms around his neck, one hand finding its way into his hair, fingers tangling in his blond curls. A high-pitched moan falls from her lips at the feeling of his large hand tracing her hip, running down her bare leg, and she feels him harden against her thigh, driving her insane. She pulls back, meeting his heated blue-eyed gaze, pupils blown.

“Impregnate me, Gabriel Enjolras,” she whispers.

He smirks.

“With pleasure, my love.”

* * *

Enjolras rather sluggishly brings the straw of his coffee tumbler to his lips, taking a sip of his iced Americano and half-listening in on how Combeferre and Courfeyrac fawn over the latter’s new dog, a little Maltipoo he’s named Ben Solo. He occasionally steals glances at the little dog, seeing how Courfeyrac so lovingly caresses his sandy coat, but he mostly keeps his gaze trained to the window, watching the people outside passing by as snow piles up on the pavement. The other two soon take their attention off Ben for just long enough to take notice of Enjolras’ silence, exchanging concerned looks before Combeferre speaks up.

“Is everything okay, Gabriel?” he enquires rather tentatively, biting his lip.

Enjolras manages a small smile, shrugging. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You had any success in getting Ép knocked up yet?” Courfeyrac questions, quirking an eyebrow. “Or are you shooting blanks?”

Both Enjolras and Combeferre stare at Courfeyrac, appalled by his inappropriately blunt query. Enjolras splutters, heat rising to his cheeks. “ _What_ —Jesus Christ, of course not!” he refutes, cheeks reddening slightly. “If you must know, I went to the doctor a while back. He said everything is _fine_. Everything is in working order. Not that it’s really any of your business, Adrien. _God._ ”

“Well, _forgive me_ for wanting to know when you and Éponine are going to spawn,” Courfeyrac retorts, scratching behind Ben’s ear. “You two are hot as fuck. So your offspring’s going to be seriously attractive. I mean, all those great genes in that pool to pick and choose from…”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and laughs while Combeferre just furrows his eyebrows at Courfeyrac, shaking his head with a slight snort. Combeferre turns to Enjolras. “You’ve been trying to conceive for, what, five months now?”

Enjolras nods, cheeks flushing pink. It’s about a week after New Year’s, almost five months since they decided to start trying for a baby. “Yes, just about. Nina’s stamina is _unbelievable_. She’s relentless. It’s honestly kind of scary. Her determination is insane.” His gaze trails out the window once again as he absently twists his wedding ring around his finger. “But she hasn’t been feeling well lately, she said.”

Combeferre’s brow furrows in concern. “Is she alright?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Enjolras assures him, stealing a glance over at Courfeyrac. Absorbed as he may be in cooing over Ben, Enjolras has no doubt that he’s still listening in. “At least, I don’t think it is. She said she’ll call the doctor.”

Combeferre regards him, and Enjolras thinks he has a bit of a contemplative look on his face. After a few moments, he just shrugs and smiles. Enjolras gets the feeling that Combeferre knows something he doesn’t. Which doesn’t make much sense. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth turns up in a half-smile. “I hope so.”

“Okay, back to discussing Gabe and Ép’s progeny!” Courfeyrac interjects, grinning impishly. “I mean, shit, you’ll _definitely_ make a gorgeous kid. Think of the genes that kid could inherit. For real.”

Enjolras shoots him a strange look, rather incredulous. “Do you always obsess over couples and what their children might look like?”

Courfeyrac juts out his bottom lip. “What? It’s a perfectly fine hobby.”

Combeferre snorts. “You need to find a new hobby.”

Courfeyrac makes a face and sticks his tongue out at the other two, blowing a raspberry. “Haters.”

Ben barks, instantly distracting Courfeyrac and drawing an adoring coo from him. Combeferre just laughs under his breath, reaching over to pet the little dog’s head. Enjolras watches them, only noticing his phone buzzing in his pocket a few moments later, and he takes it out to see several text notifications from Éponine.

**Nina ❤️💍: i’m at coco’s place**

**Nina ❤️💍: thought i’d help out with the kids y’know**

**Nina ❤️💍: and i have to run a couple of errands after**

**Nina ❤️💍: so i might be home a little late**

**Nina ❤️💍: i’ll see you at home**

**Nina ❤️💍: i love you ❤️**

Enjolras smiles and texts back a response ( **Alright. I love you, too. I’ll see you at home ❤️** ) before he pockets his phone and gets to his feet to slip his coat on, throwing his Hufflepuff scarf around his neck. “I should probably get going now,” he tells the other two, picking up his tumbler and taking a sip of whatever remains of his iced coffee. “I’ll see you two around?”

“Hopefully you’ll have put a baby in Éponine by then,” Courfeyrac quips, bursting out laughing at the way his words immediately make Enjolras’ face flame red.

Combeferre shoots him an exasperated look and rolls his eyes, though he can’t quite swallow the low laugh that escapes him as he turns his gaze back to Enjolras. “We’ll see you around. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Enjolras musters a grateful, if somewhat flustered, smile before heading out of the café, wrapping his coat tighter around himself on his way to the subway. It’s a fifteen-minute train ride back to the Village, snow having begun to fall again by the time he gets home and seeks refuge from the cold in the building, bounding up the stairs to his and Éponine’s place and unlocking the door.

Enjolras spares a glance at his watch as he takes off his coat and scarf to hang up by the door, wondering when Éponine will be back. Seeing how he’s finished all the work he took home for the weekend and doesn’t really have anything better to do, he goes to fill Ginger’s bowls for when she comes home with Éponine before getting to work on making dinner. He doesn’t hear the front door open and close as he stirs spaghetti sauce in a pot, startling a little when he hears a bark moments before he feels two slender arms slide around his waist from behind, turning his head to see Éponine standing on tiptoe, her chin on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling when he kisses her cheek in greeting. “Whatcha makin’ there?”

“Spaghetti sauce,” he replies.

A suggestive grin plays at her lips. “No meatballs?”

He rolls his eyes, swallowing a sardonic laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

She throws her head back and laughs out loud, hugging him tighter. Eventually, she lets her arms drop from around his waist, going to hop up onto the counter as she watches him cook at the kitchen island. He turns off the stove a few moments later, redirecting his attention to her. “How was it at Cosette’s?”

Her face lights up, brown eyes sparkling. “It was good! Ginger had a lot of fun with Chou Chou and the kids.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “How is Georgie handling having a sibling?”

“Oh, he _loves_ Rosalie,” she tells him with a laugh. Rosalie Fantine Pontmercy-Fauchelevent was born a mere two weeks ago, a tiny thing with blue eyes and tufts of auburn hair, and Éponine’s been going over to the Pontmercy-Fauchelevent residence an awful lot lately to play with her. She still hasn’t quite grown into her cute yet, but Éponine figures she’ll get there in another couple of months or so. “He likes to call her Rosie. Honestly, Coco and Marius are fucking _lucky_ that he’s taking it so well. I still remember how Azelma threw a shit fit when Gavroche was born because she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore.”

Enjolras laughs under his breath. “I know. I was there, remember?”

She laughs again, biting her lip and falling silent for a few moments, sobering up. “Not that she had anything to worry about, it turned out. Our parents never really cared about Gav from the start. They did the absolute bare fucking minimum when it came to him. Sometimes they couldn’t be arsed to do even that.” She blows some hair out of her face, mentioning, “Oh, and also, I called the doctor while I was there.”

Concern finds its way onto his face at that. He knows she hasn’t been feeling too great lately, but he never considered that it would be _that_ bad. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft. “It isn’t anything serious, is it?”

The look in her eyes turns rather reticent then, and she shrugs. “Depends on your definition of ‘serious’.”

His brow furrows, concerned. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know how I’ve been feeling super nauseous all the time, right?” She slides off the counter. “And I’ve been so tired, always, lately.”

He slowly nods as she makes her way over to him, taking her time in doing so. “Well,” she goes on, “the doctor had a guess about what might be causing it.” She takes something out of her pocket and holds it up for him to see, a breathless smile on her face. “And it turns out she was right.”

His gaze trails to whatever it is she’s holding in her hands, his breath catching in his throat when he sees that it’s a positive pregnancy test. The two pink lines are unmistakable.

“Nina…” He smiles, rather amazed, like he can’t quite believe it. “Are we having a baby?”

She beams and nods in confirmation, rather teary-eyed, dimples in her cheeks. “We’re having a baby!”

He just stares at her for several moments, overwhelmed with emotion, before he pulls her into his arms in a tight embrace. She smiles even harder as her arms wrap around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and holding on tight, never wanting to let go. When he draws back, she notices how his blue eyes glisten, and she giggles, one hand reaching up to cup his face, her thumb caressing his cheek.

“Gabe, are you _crying_?” she questions playfully. She can’t seem to stop smiling.

He lets out a breathless laugh and reaches up to hastily wipe away his tears. “Why are you surprised? It took us five months.”

“And I thank you for all your hard work.” She rises on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his in a brief kiss. “As a reward for your _tireless_ efforts to get me knocked up, we won’t have sex for the next nine months.”

He frowns when she draws back, staring at her in shock, but she’s biting her lower lip, clearly trying to suppress laughter. He mentally lets out a sigh of relief and rolls his eyes.

“Har har. You’re hilarious.”


	28. a bun in the oven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something both thrilling and terrifying about being soon-to-be parents to a tiny human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~fuck has it been eleven days since the last update? shit~~
> 
> a very happy 37th birthday to our favourite tony nominee(!) aaron tveit!! our boy is a _tony nominee_!!! and yes even though he's the only one in the category i do believe he earned his nomination based on merit considering how in 1985 there were limited options for best actor/actress in a musical but they chose to drop those categories entirely due to none of the performances being considered outstanding enough. either that or this is them apologising for the last eleven years of injustice. i'll take it either way.
> 
> i lost track of time for a bit there and once i realised it's been a while since i last updated, i figured i might as well save this one for his birthday lol. have some mindless, self-indulgent fluff ❤️

* * *

Naturally, Matthieu is the first person they tell.

Though they decide to hold off until after the twelve-week scan to tell their friends, they give Matthieu the news a couple of weeks after her first appointment. He invites them over one Saturday for lunch, which they take as the perfect opportunity to break the news to him via a gift they found on Etsy, a white ceramic mug with the words “promoted from dog grandpa to human grandpa” splashed onto the side in black. Enjolras wraps the little box it came in in shiny red wrapping paper before they leave for the Upper East Side, Éponine having wrestled Ginger into a baby-pink cable-knit sweater. He manages to find them seats on the crowded subway, Ginger sitting in her lap as she lays her head on his shoulder.

“How do you think he’ll react?” she asks, her voice hardly above a murmur. She lifts her head to rest her chin on his shoulder as she looks at him, dimples in her cheeks from the slight smile that plays at her lips.

He lets out a soft laugh, turning Matthieu’s gift over in his hands. “He’ll be thrilled. And I know he’s going to cry.”

She laughs. “I’ll make sure to get it on camera, then.”

“We can show it to the baby when they’re a bit older,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice.

Ginger curls up in her lap as she presses a hand to her stomach, feeling it through her coat—still quite flat as of right now, though the area below her navel definitely feels a lot firmer now. “I still can’t believe there’s a tiny human growing in there,” she muses under her breath, rubbing her abdomen as she’s developed a habit of doing ever since she found out about her pregnancy. “We’re actually having a baby, Gabriel.”

His smile broadens just the tiniest bit as his arm slides around her shoulders, his lips pressing against her temple in a soft kiss. “I love you.”

She smiles, rather giddy. “I love you, too.”

They’re two stops away from their stop when she speaks again. “Girl or boy?” she asks quietly, toying with her locket.

“Hm?”

“Do you want a girl or a boy?”

He falls silent for a bit, considers it for a few moments. “It doesn’t matter,” he responds at last. “I’ll love them no matter what gender they turn out to be.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she returns to absently caressing Ginger. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Me, too.”

It’s a little past noon by the time they get off the train and climb up the steps out into the streets, the frigid February air nipping at their noses. Ginger trots ahead of them on their way to Matthieu’s building, the end of her leash looped around Éponine’s wrist. They stop to chat with the doorman for a couple of minutes before taking the elevator up to the penthouse, finding Matthieu sitting in the living room when the elevator door slides open.

“Gabriel! Éponine!” Matthieu beams and gets to his feet just as Éponine takes off Ginger’s leash and places her on the ground to let her roam the apartment, weaving between Matthieu’s legs and startling him a bit as he goes to give his son a hug. He laughs. “And Ginger.”

Enjolras laughs and readily returns his father’s embrace, Éponine following suit once her husband lets go of her father-in-law. Once she’s detached herself from him, Matthieu’s eyes zone in on the package in Enjolras’ hands.

“What’s that?” he asks, an edge of intrigue to his voice as his gaze moves upwards to meet his son’s.

It doesn’t escape Matthieu’s notice how Enjolras avoids the question, taking off his shoes, coat, and scarf, hanging up the latter two before moving past his father. “Why don’t we eat lunch first?”

Lunch is a bit of a subdued affair, consisting of jambalaya and glasses of orange juice, though Éponine doesn’t eat as much as she normally would, her morning sickness still acting up more often than not. She’s very glad that Matthieu decided to forgo the seafood. Concern clouds Matthieu’s eyes at how she barely touches her food. “Is everything alright, Éponine?” he questions, the sound of his voice startling her somewhat. When she looks up, eyes wide, he clarifies, “You haven’t eaten much.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” She musters an apologetic smile. “I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately. It has nothing to do with the food,” she assures him. “It’s delicious.”

Matthieu smiles back at her, albeit rather quizzically, before turning his focus to his son. “Gabriel?”

Enjolras only shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a sip of his orange juice.

Afterwards, they sit in the living room, Matthieu in an armchair catty-corner to the sofa Enjolras and Éponine currently occupy, Ginger still taking her time in wandering the penthouse. Éponine sits with her legs crossed and leans back against the couch cushions, absently rubbing at the tattoo on her inner wrist, as Enjolras leans forward, barely noticeable, his elbows resting on his knees. “So,” he starts, “we have some news.”

Éponine takes her phone out and presses record as Enjolras hands the package over to Matthieu. Interest piqued, he starts undoing the wrapping paper, making sure not to tear it—Enjolras unwraps presents in the exact same manner, Éponine notes in amusement—and setting it aside. He opens the plain cardboard box, surprise evident on his face when he pulls the mug out. Upon reading the words on the side of the mug, his eyes immediately widen as his head snaps up to look at them.

“Alright!” A disbelieving laugh escapes him, his eyes beginning to glisten as he looks back and forth between his son and daughter-in-law. He glances down at the mug once again before looking back up, lips forming a teary-eyed smile. “Really?”

Éponine nods, giggling. “Yeah!”

“Huh!” Matthieu laughs once again, overwrought with emotion, eyes shining with tears. “I’m going to be a grandfather.”

“Yes, you are,” Enjolras confirms with a laugh, tears of his own beginning to sting at his eyes, unable to hold back his smile.

Matthieu stares at the mug for several seconds more, laughing a little deliriously to himself and sniffling, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. Try as they might, Éponine and Enjolras can’t help but laugh, growing rather emotional themselves. “I told you he was going to cry,” he murmurs to her with another tearful laugh.

Éponine giggles again, biting her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide as she reaches up to wipe at her eyes, careful to keep her phone steady, with how it’s still recording. “I’m ten weeks along,” she says, pressing her free hand to her belly.

“I’m going to be a _grandfather_ ,” Matthieu repeats, his voice soft, like he can’t quite believe it. He bursts into full-blown tears, holding the mug in his hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Enjolras goes to hug his father as Éponine continues to record, giggling through her tears at Matthieu’s unabashedly emotional reaction, jumping in surprise when Ginger emerges out of nowhere and jumps into her lap, making herself comfortable.

It takes Matthieu a good fifteen minutes to finally calm down and properly process the news, after which, at Éponine’s urging, he brings out baby pictures of Enjolras, from when they were living down south in Louisiana. Éponine can’t resist gushing and cooing over baby Enjolras, with his chubby cheeks, his big blue eyes, his mop of blond curls, his gap-toothed smile. He watches his wife as she babbles adoringly at his baby pictures, a faint pink colour dusting his cheeks at her enthusiasm.

“When’s this from?” Éponine asks with great interest, pointing at a photograph of a crying Enjolras in his mother’s arms, standing with their backs to their car. He can’t be more than four years old in the photo.

Enjolras turns red, rather chagrined, and looks at his father. “Dad?”

Matthieu chuckles and ruffles his son’s hair. “I took that on the day we moved. We’d gotten up really early that morning, since it was a twenty-hour drive up here. You weren’t very pleased, I recall,” he says to Enjolras with a slight smile. “You were upset about being woken up so early, and during the drive, when you weren’t sleeping, you cried, saying that you wanted to go home. You refused to accept it when your mother and I told you that we _were_ home, that New York was our home now. It took you months to come to terms with it.”

Enjolras’ face flushes a deep shade of scarlet as Éponine throws her head back and laughs so hard, she scares Ginger, who barks out her displeasure. “Really?” she finally manages to get out once she’s gotten her laughter under control, staring at the picture.

“Yes, really.” Matthieu lets out a quiet laugh. “But the move ended up being a good thing. If we hadn’t moved, you two wouldn’t have met on your first day of kindergarten, and you wouldn’t have become best friends, which means you wouldn’t be married now and I wouldn’t be becoming a grandfather.”

Éponine laughs and hugs Enjolras’ arm, laying her head on his shoulder as he laughs under his breath, a little wryly. “Well, I suppose when you put it that way…”

They spend another hour or so looking at Enjolras’ baby pictures, Matthieu repeatedly expressing his excitement at the prospect of becoming a grandfather throughout, before going home, spending about ten minutes on lengthy goodbyes. Once outside the building, they decide to go take Ginger for a walk through Central Park before heading home, engaged in casual conversation as they stroll through the slush.

“I think we should tell my siblings before we tell the others,” Éponine says, watching how Ginger stops for a moment to sniff at a bush before going on her way again. “I want to see the looks on their faces up close.”

Enjolras lets out a low laugh as Éponine links her arm through his, kissing her temple. “Alright. When do you want to do that?”

She scrunches up her face, deep in thought. “Tomorrow, maybe? If not, then next week. We could invite them over for lunch and give them custom T-shirts or something. Aunt- and uncle-to-be.” She grins. “They’re going to freak.”

He laughs again, shaking his head as he gazes at her affectionately. “Whatever you want.”

* * *

“Nina, look, they’re having a sale on diapers. What are your thoughts on the cloth variety?”

“Absolutely no thoughts. Get a load of all those baby clothes!”

Éponine drags Enjolras across the median to the clothes area, where all sorts of baby clothes and accessories litter the racks and shelves. She’s kind of impressed by the variety of clothing available. Everything from bodysuits to rompers to themed sets complete with tiny hats.

She rubs her bump as they explore the racks, unable to get enough of how the baby kicks back against her hand. Enjolras watches her as she does, rather unaware of the way the corners of his mouth tug upwards in a fond smile at the sight of her with her little bump. The presence of a noticeable bump makes this all so much more _real_ , somehow. They’re really becoming parents.

An hour ago, on their way out of the hospital after her doctor’s appointment, he suggested going to shop for baby things, or at the very least get a good look at them to get an idea of what they’ll need, which led to where they are now: in the baby section of the Target in East Harlem, Éponine gushing over baby clothes as Enjolras looks on. She’s got that second-trimester glow about her and looks more radiant than ever.

She picks up a little princess dress, sparkly and purple and frilly all over, and squeals slightly, holding it up for him to see.

“Gabe, look at this! It’s so tiny!” She grins up at him. “We have to get it.”

He just smiles rather questioningly. “It’s too early to be shopping for clothes, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean, ‘too early’? We’re at the halfway point.”

“That’s fair.”

She grins and places the little dress back on the rack before reaching up to place her arms around his neck, pulling him in close and leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. They had the chance to find out the sex of the baby earlier during her appointment, but she firmly decided against it, wanting it to be a surprise. He went along with it, of course. They refuse to enforce gender stereotypes on their baby, especially before the kid is even born.

She feels it then. Another kick. And evidently he feels it as well, with the way his gaze drifts down to her bump, a look of slight awe in his blue eyes as he presses a hand to the swell of her belly. She watches him, unable to hold back her smile.

“Hey, little bug,” she coos, looking down at her bump. “Can you do that again for Daddy?”

The baby quite eagerly complies, repeatedly kicking back against Enjolras’ hand, and he lets out a breathless laugh at the sensation as Éponine beams at him, watching his face. “Crazy, right?”

He just laughs again, amazed. “Mommy and I can’t wait for you to get here, bug,” he murmurs.

She giggles and kisses his cheek, his gaze slowly moving upwards to meet hers once again. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more elated. Honestly, he doesn’t know where he would be without her; she’s been in his life for so long, he can’t even picture a life without her in it. She’s given him so much, everything he could ever wish for and so much more, through her near-lifelong friendship, through her love for him. He knows a lot of people spend their whole lives searching for but never succeeding in finding their true love, their soulmate. He’s beyond lucky to have found his when he offered her his juice box after inviting her to sit with him during snacktime on the first day of kindergarten.

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly, noticing the look on his face.

He smiles, gazing into her eyes. “You. How much I love you. You’re my best friend, Nina. My everything.”

A blush rises to her cheeks at his candid words, rather embarrassed by his honesty. Twenty-something years of being best friends, four years of being together, and almost two years of marriage, and she’s still not quite used to it. “You’re my best friend too, Gabriel. I love you.”

“Even if you’re a total pain in the ass and have gotten us in trouble more times than I can count.”

“You ruined it. Also, you were just as responsible for getting us in trouble in a _lot_ of those situations, asshole.”

He laughs then, arms sliding around her waist and pulling her close, her bump getting in the way somewhat. “I love you. You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re _my_ pain in the ass.”

She grins. “Damn right I am. There’s no other ass I’d rather be a pain in.” As if to prove her point, she reaches down to squeeze his ass, her grin broadening at the way his cheeks flush.

“Nina, that’s not appropriate,” he chastises gently, a faint red colour dusting his cheeks.

Her grin only widens even more. “You know, in hindsight, I think the main reason I attended and sat front row at all your baseball games back when we were in high school was because of how your ass looked in those baseball pants. And to support you, obviously. MVP of the varsity team and all that. But God, your _ass_ in those _pants_. Hot _damn_.” She jokingly wolf-whistles and wiggles her eyebrows, laughing at how his face goes from a faint red to positively scarlet.

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss her, mostly just to shut her up, and she grins, his lips having just barely brushed against hers when a new, unfamiliar voice interrupts their moment.

“Oh my. I’m sorry!”

Éponine immediately jerks back, her gaze snapping to the woman beside them as her cheeks heat up in mortification. She detaches herself from a flustered Enjolras, rubbing at the tattoo on her inner wrist as she has a bit of a nervous habit of doing.

“It’s no problem,” he says politely, blushing something fierce.

“Yeah, we should probably get on with our shopping,” she adds.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt your moment.” The older woman smiles at them. “I’m just trying to pass through really quickly.”

“Don’t mind us,” Enjolras tells her, mustering a tiny smile in return. “We’re so sorry you had to see that.”

“Oh, it’s no bother at all!” The woman’s gaze trails to Éponine’s bump. “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re expecting, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Éponine beams, absolute joy etched into every muscle on her face as she presses a hand to her abdomen. She loves gushing about her pregnancy. It warms Enjolras’ heart to see her so happy. “I’m twenty weeks along.”

“Aww.” The lady coos, pressing a hand to her heart. “Congratulations! I’m sure you and your husband will make wonderful parents.”

“Thank you!”

The woman walks on, heading on out of the clothing section. As soon as she rounds a corner and disappears from view, Éponine turns to Enjolras, grinning. “You hear that, Gabe? She called you my _husband_.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, smiling in amusement as he holds up his left hand to show her his wedding ring. “I _am_ your husband.”

“Oh. Right.”

She laughs out loud and takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and leaning up to nuzzle her nose against his. Once she draws back, she flashes him another grin. “Come on, let’s go look at cribs.”

He laughs and gives her hand a squeeze as they start towards the crib section, their arms swinging in time with their steps.

* * *

“You know what pisses me the fuck off?”

Enjolras looks up at the sound of Éponine’s voice, watching as she waddles into her old bedroom turned nursery, Ginger trailing after her, and sits down next to him on the hardwood floor with a groan. Ginger hops into Enjolras’ lap as he rubs his wife’s back in an attempt to ease some of her discomfort. Her baby shower ended mere hours ago and he took it upon himself to put away the gifts they’ve received, though some are still scattered around the living room. Last he saw, it still looks like a hurricane blew through their apartment. He’ll probably end up cleaning it all up later. It’s the least he can do, with how obviously exhausted Éponine is.

“What?” he prompts, putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple.

She makes a face. “When shitty cis dads-to-be say ‘we’re pregnant’. It’s patronising as fuck. Like, shut the fuck up! _You’re_ not the one who’s fucking pregnant! Full offence, but you fuckers bring _nothing_ to the table! The partner who’s actually fucking pregnant is the one who has to make all the fucking sacrifices; meanwhile, _you_ get a designated driver for nine fucking months!” She looks up to meet his gaze, her brown eyes intense. Her gaze softens then, and she smiles at him, small but sincere. “So thank you for not being like those assholes and saying ‘we’re pregnant’. It means a lot.”

He chuckles softly and presses his lips to her forehead, giving a slight roll of his eyes. “God, our baby’s first word is going to be fuck, isn’t it?”

She laughs out loud and sticks her tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. “Seriously. Thanks. Words cannot describe how much I fucking _hate_ it when cis men say ‘we’re pregnant’.”

“I figured when I had to keep you from punching that one father-to-be in the face at that birthing class we attended after he said that in regards to him and his wife.”

“He had a jerkish look about him, didn’t he? Like, just from looking at him, you could just _tell_ that he was a sexist, condescending jackass.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

She lets loose a long-winded sigh and lays her head on his shoulder as he holds her tighter while absently stroking Ginger’s coat, the pair of them gazing at the nursery and Ginger drifting off to sleep. Everything’s been set up for when their baby comes in about three weeks, give or take. Plush glider chair and matching ottoman for nursing, convertible crib with changing station attached, stuffed animals, starry nightlight, and more for their child. They’ve even bought a bassinet to place in their own room, right next to their bed, for those first few months. They both went on parental leave a while ago, to allow themselves enough time to prepare for the baby; most days, when she isn’t nesting, she lounges around on their living room sofa with Ginger and goes on Netflix binges, growing less energetic with each day that passes.

“No one told me pregnancy would be this hard,” she mumbles, pressing a hand to her bulging belly and feeling the baby’s dull kicks. “TV lies…”

A soft laugh escapes him. He can’t help it. “Nina, you witnessed Cosette go through two pregnancies. What exactly were you expecting?”

She lifts her head. He can _feel_ her glaring at him. “Do you really want to argue with a pregnant woman three weeks away from her due date? Is that really the hill you want to die on?”

“No. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

She smirks in slight triumph at him, rubbing her enormous baby bump and groaning at another kick. “You’re killing me, bug,” she mutters to her belly, albeit fondly. Enjolras smiles, kissing the top of her head once she’s laid her head on his shoulder once more. “I want them to come already. I’m sick of feeling like I’m hauling a bowling ball around in my womb.”

“I’m sure our child’s really going to appreciate being likened to a bowling ball,” he deadpans. She just snorts.

“They sure fuckin’ feel like one!” she proclaims, reaching over to pat Ginger’s little head. “I can’t even play guitar for them like I want to, because this massive fucking bump gets in the way.”

“I could always play the piano for them, you know.”

“Eh. Not really the same thing, but thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it.”

She sighs again and rubs her bump, feeling the slight weight of her husband’s head against her own. “I just want them to come already, Gabriel,” she murmurs. “I want to hold our baby.”

“Just a few more weeks, love.” He kisses the top of her head once again. “Maybe even less, if they decide to come early.”

“Or more, if they’re stubborn,” she points out, wrinkling her nose at that very possible scenario.

He rubs her shoulder. “Well, hopefully that won’t be the case.”

“Feels like they’re going to pop out any day now.” She laughs under her breath to herself, looking down at her bump. “This bun’s pretty much fully baked at this point.”

She pauses, narrowing her eyes as she contemplates her words. “They can’t stop me from being completely blazed during the birth, can they? I mean, the baby’ll be fully cooked by then. I could get the weed from R or Jehan. I’m sure they’ve got plenty to spare.”

Enjolras lifts his head to stare at her through wide blue eyes, appalled at the mental image that brings to mind. “Nina. _No_.”

Éponine throws her head back and laughs so hard she cackles, elbowing him in the side. “Jesus Christ, Gabe! I was _joking_!”

He gives her a _look_ , raising his eyebrows. “Were you, though?”

She smiles angelically. “Half-joking.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath, fond, exasperated, shaking his head. She’s going to be the death of him.

A comfortable silence falls between them, occasionally broken by Ginger’s soft snores. After some time, she speaks up again, her voice quiet, almost absent-minded. “You know that one quote from _The Office_? The one where Pam says that when you’re a kid, you assume your parents are soulmates?”

A corner of his mouth tugs up in a smile. “Yes.”

She looks up to rest her chin on his shoulder just as he turns his head, gazing into each other’s eyes. She smiles, soft, sincere, dimples carving themselves in her cheeks. “Yeah. Our kids are going to be right about that.”

His smile widens just the smallest bit, and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against hers. “I love you.”

She closes her eyes and smiles, a little goofy. “I love you, too.”

Another blissful silence passes by, Éponine reaching over to stroke Ginger’s coat as the dog lies asleep in Enjolras’ lap while he gazes at her, thoughtful. “You know, we really should settle on a name,” he says softly. “Well, two names.”

“Oh, I made a list, actually!” She sits up straighter, or at least as upright as she can be with her giant bump weighing her down. Reaching into the front pocket of her NYU hoodie—she’s always bought her hoodies in the largest size available whenever she isn’t stealing them from Enjolras, which has come in handy now, with her big-ass baby bump—she pulls out a piece of paper she’s torn out of a notebook and folded up, handing it over to him.

As he unfolds the paper, she says, “I still haven’t decided on middle names yet, but I’ve circled my favourites and starred the ones I like the most out of those favourites.”

He scans the list, seeing how it’s divided into two sections. Peculiarly enough, potential middle names come first, consisting of about two dozen names that can work for a girl or a boy or both. When he gets to potential first names, however, she’s only written down two.

She watches his microexpressions carefully as he reads the names over and over again, biting her lip rather anxiously. “So?” she whispers after a few moments. “We can decide on middle names later, but honestly, I can’t think of any other first name to give our baby. Do you like them?”

A corner of his mouth quirks upwards in the tiniest smile, and he nods, blinking repeatedly when he feels that familiar sting behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, it borders on inaudible. “Yeah. They’re perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are always, always, always appreciated 🥰
> 
> i'm over on tumblr [@bisexual-eponine](https://bisexual-eponine.tumblr.com/), feel free to drop by and talk fic to me
> 
> [national resources masterdoc](https://linktr.ee/NationalResourcesList)   
>  [black lives matter carrd](https://blacklivesmatter.carrd.co/)   
>  [justice carrd](https://bringjustice.carrd.co/)


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